Wicked Webs and Spider Bites
by akaSpiderWoman
Summary: FINALLY!! CHAPTER 12!! Read, read, read, read! A big twist is coming into play... See ya next chapter!
1. Framed and Fallen

Hi…this is my first fanfic.  Please read and review.  

I don't own Spider-Man, or Mary Jane and all those people that we know belong to Marvel and maybe partially Sony Pictures…I wish I did, and I would like to someday…but for now I'll just write about them.  Sigh…oh well, here you go.  I'll go work on a way to buy his copyrights, and maybe in Chapter 2 I will own him and all of his hotness.  I can dream, can't I?

"…back to WPYX, New York's finest radio-news station.  Don Sanders here, with…"

_'Ugh,'  _thought Peter as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.  '_No way…5:00 already? And just two precious hours left before work…' _And with that, he rolled over in an attempt to fall back asleep. 

"…weekend weather forecast on the way.  With me now is Mr. J. Jonah Jameson, chief editor of the Daily Bugle, with a special report.  Mr. Jameson?"

"People of New York: I have just been told, by _very_ reliable sources, that our very own local 'superhero', Spider-Man, has been seen breaking and entering the Chase Manhattan Bank located on…"

Peter couldn't help but wonder why his boss had spit out the words 'Spider-Man' with such hate and contempt – but then the end of Mr. Jameson's report finally registered in his groggy brain, and he sat upright, with a dumbfounded look upon his face.  "Uh, the last time I checked, _I_ was Spider-Man", he said to himself quietly, but aloud.  He immediately regretted it after noticing his bedroom door was open.  Slipping into shorts and a T-shirt, he walked down the hall of his apartment, silently hoping that no one was around. He found a note from Harry – "Pete: I went to the mansion to clean out some of my father's old stuff.  See you for lunch?  Harry" – and flipped on the news to make sure he had heard the radio right.  After all, he _had_ been half asleep, right?

Several minutes later, after learning he had heard right, Peter was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, the TV remote in his hand.  His hair was tousled, and his shirt wrinkled.  He was staring blankly out the window, in the direction of the bank.  In the distance, he could hear sirens.  '_I don't understand.  How can I be here and robbing a bank at the same time!?  Well, its time to let the real Spider-Man find out who, or _what, _is behind this.  Oh man, do I even want _to know?!'  _He jumped up and ran to his room, stripping himself of his clothes on the way.  As he lifted the spandex suit from its hiding place inside his pillowcase, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  He still could not believe the changes that he had went through since the first day after the spider bite.  His body was now muscular, perfect from every angle.  He had 20/20 vision, no glasses needed.  He could shoot webbing from his wrists and stick to walls.  And these were things that he did almost instinctively everyday of every week, taking no notice to them and accepting them as normal.  He took one final look in the mirror before transforming into Spider-Man.  Then, he was swinging above the streets of New York._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_'I'd better not let the boys in blue see me,' _thought Spider-Man as he swung towards the bank._  'They'd probably shoot me – they think I've turned criminal.  I'd shoot me too!'_   Instead of going straight towards the 23-story building, he made a sharp left. _'It'd probably be easier to make a back entrance: That way, no one will know I'm here.'  _He landed on top of the building and crouched behind what looked to be an air conditioning system.  As of yet, there were no news station helicopters in the skies above, but that was likely to change.  _'I'll have to be inside before they get here, or they could spot me.'  _Just then, he noticed the outline of a door on the side of the air conditioner.  Peeking inside, he realized it was actually a freight elevator, probably used to ship large amounts of money from safe to safe inside the bank.  

"Well, hello, opportunity,"said Spidey as he grinned behind his mask.  He entered through the double doors and pushed the button for floor 23.  _'If I go down too low, I'll probably end up passing whoever it is that's framing me and take the chance of him hearing the elevator.  He'd know someone was inside the building…I'll just take my own way down.'  _He slid the doors open with relative ease and jumped out into the shaft.  With a flick of his wrist, he was hanging from the floor of the elevator car by a few feet of  white, sticky, web line.  It was a long drop to the floor – bearing in mind the fact that there were also many sub-floors along with the 22 below him now – but that did not stop Spidey.  He sent out another line of webbing and within milliseconds was sticking to the wall.  

All of a sudden, Spidey felt a tingle at the base of his neck.  SCRREEECH!  The doors to the elevator about nine, maybe ten floors down were being pulled open slowly.  A man in his mid-forties with a balding head and glasses was being held over the shaft, wriggling like a newborn puppy. Spidey could see the fear in his eyes, and see the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.  Before reacting, Spidey caught the end of a threat.  "…the bag.  Yes, all of it!  Do it now or I drop him!"  

THWIP!  The arm that belonged to the familiar but unrecognized voice was covered in web and pulled, and the rest of the body was now visible.  It _was_ Spider-Man!  _'Well, with a hideous costume and bad manners,' _thought Spidey.  Just as he pulled the imposter out into the shaft, the hand around the victims neck was loosened and the man fell.  "Help! Aughhhhhhhhhgh!!!"  

"Hold on!"  _'How could I have been so dumb!?'_

The imposter arched his head up, ignoring that fact that he had let a man to fall to his death.  "What's this?  Did Spider-Man come out to play?" 

Spidey paid him no mind, and was intent on saving the falling, screaming man. He released his grip on the wall and fell through the shaft after the man.  Web streamed out of his wrists as he tried desperately to catch the victim.  Down he fell, faster and faster, but he had lost sight of his target.  He shot his web up to the ceiling to suspend himself and attempted one last time to catch the now invisible - and probably dead - man.

THUD.  Spidey gasped as he was thrown against the wall, trapped by…webbing!?  _'But, how…where…WHAT!? How can he throw webs!?'_

"You will no longer be a hero, Spider-Man!  All glory shall be erased from your soul, and you will be looked upon as a menace, a criminal, a villain!  Now, die… as you have deserved to for so long!"  The slender, red-gloved fingers reached inside, followed by the rest of the body.  The doors slowly slid shut.  Spidey could hear the mechanics of the elevator start up, and realized that he had to get out.   He had to leave, figure out what to do, and come back.  There was no way he could save all the hostages inside right now, and he wanted to look for the fallen victim below.  If he couldn't save him, he could at least give him the respect he deserved, and return him to his family.  _'The respect he deserves?  He didn't deserve to die in the first place!  It was my carelessness that killed the poor man, and god knows I should have been able to save him!'  _But that would wait for now – Spidey became preoccupied with the strident elevator slowly coming lower and lower, closer and closer to crushing him against the cold, hard wall.  Mourning would have to come later.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spider-Man was totally and completely lost on this.  He had gotten out of the elevator shaft, luckily, but left the bank after seeing his imposter had fled with the money.  He decided it would be safer to leave the area and think about what he was going to do instead of hunting down his newest enemy.  He casually swung from building to building, trying to make sense out of what had just happened.  _'OK – I have obviously been framed.  But by who?  And why?'  _It had been just two months since the death of the Green Goblin, aka Norman Osborne, Harry's father.  Since then, Spidey had been fighting crime as usual, but nothing as extreme as this.  He could see this was going to be tough.  

As he rounded the final corner half a block from his apartment, Spider-Man again felt his spider-sense go off.  _'Geez, why is it, every time I try to…'_  He stopped mid-thought as he jumped onto the nearest roof.  Looking around for the source of his alarm and finding no one, he figured it was a fluke.  _'I guess I'm just so confused about this that I'm imagining my spider-sense!'  _He jumped off the roof and continued to his apartment window.  Instead of going right in, he sat on the ledge above and looked out over the city.  In the distance he could see Central Park; the trees and green grass reminded him of Norman Osborne's funeral, and lying to Mary Jane.  He could hear her words in his memory as if she were right there beside him, speaking them aloud. 

 "I love you Pete.  Oh, I love you so much!" 

He could feel her body pressed against his, as he tried his hardest to not reply the way he so badly wanted too.  "I promise you, I will always be there for you.  I will always be…your friend."  

"Only a friend, Peter Parker?"  

"That's all I have to give."  

_'What a bunch of crap.'_  Peter began once more to hate Spider-Man for all the pain he put him through.  Since the fourth grade Peter had loved M.J., and now that she finally felt the same way, he could not let himself love her.  It would be too risky.  

BANG!  Peter was distracted from his thoughts as he returned to the life of Spider-Man. A gun had just been shot, and he could smell the smoke coming from somewhere behind him.  Figuring a mugging, he raced to the edge of the apartment roof to save the victim.  But he saw no one.  

THWIP!  Spidey was stuck to the wall, looking around the alley beneath him.  His spider-sense was tingling, and this time he had no doubt it was real.  He held a hand to the base of his neck, trying to stop the tickling sensation.  He almost wanted to laugh, it was so strong…_ 'I guess I wasn't imagining it, after all.'_

BANG! BANG!  The gun went off again, twice, and much louder this time.  Before he knew what was happening, Spidey was falling towards the muddy puddles below.  His hands instinctively shot out webs to each side of him, balancing himself in the air like and acrobat would at a circus.  He felt two jabs of pain: one in the right side of his lower back, about where his kidneys would be, and another in his left shoulder blade.  The pain was so agonizing that his left arm went limp, and he continued his fall.  

CRASH!  "UGH!"  The lower half of his body landed on a pile of trash cans, and his shoulders and head were thrown against the top of a dumpster.  A strand of webbing attached itself to the wall, pulling the spider onto his feet.  He turned to find the source of his spider-sense.   "Ouch, jeez, ow!"  It really did hurt; he wasn't just whining. _'Sure, it'd probably hurt a _normal_ human a wee bit more…but pain is pain.  And I'm far from normal.  Fortunately.'  _ 

A voice came from the left, past the corner of the apartment building.  There stood a young man, a teenager really, with an inquisitive look upon his face.  In his right hand was a silver pistol, reflecting the sun above and blinding Spidey.  "Why?" he asked as he lifted the gun and aimed at Spidey's face.  

"You shot me!"  Spider-Man was, to say the least, a bit angry. _'This is unbelievable!  He actually shot me!  Twice!  Ok, maybe I shouldn't daydream out in the open…but do I really deserve _this_?'_

"I asked you a question, god damnit!"  The kid took a haughty step towards the wall crawler.  "Answer me!"  . 

"But…you SHOT me!"

"Yeah.  We've established that.  Why did you kill him!?  You're supposed to be a hero…hero's don't kill.  They save."  The guy had a look of doubt in his eyes.  "I never thought you'd do it.  I knew the opportunity was there; amazing powers could easily equal amazing amounts of money and power.  But you seemed like you knew what you were doing.  You just wanted to help New York."  He lowered the gun, and looked into Spidey's mask.  "But I heard the news.  You dropped him."

Spider-Man felt a chill go down his spine.  The kid's gaze was so intense, it was as if he were looking through the mask.  He took a step forward, wincing in pain, glad his face was covered to hide the sensation.  "I…I didn't.  It wasn't me."  The young mans eyebrows went up.  He was skeptical.  _'As well he should be…'  _"Look, I know it sounds weird Mr. -- "

"They call me Jeb."

"Mr. Jeb.  But I really --"

The kid shook his head, rolling his eyes as though Spider-Man were stupid. "_Just_ Jeb."

Spidey was beginning to become frustrated.  _'Does he want to hear this or not!?'_  "Ok.  Jeb.  Just listen!"

"No, YOU listen.  He was my father.  He was a good, honest man.  He had no reason to die!"  Jeb brought the gun back up, pointing it at Spidey's chest like an accusing finger.  Spidey immediately brought his hands up, aiming his webbing to pull the gun out of Jeb's shaking hands.

BANG!  An unusually loud sound.  The noise echoed in Spidey's ears before he realized he'd been shot in the chest. He noticed webbing on the gun's trigger.  _'Not only does Jeb shoot me twice, but I also manage to shoot myself.  What a great day this is turning out to be.'_  Blood began gushing out, covering himself and the unpaved road.  Jeb stood above him, hand over his mouth, body shaking.  He stood, horrified, for only a few seconds before he took off down the alley.  _'That's right Jeb, run and get help!  Like Lassie!'_  He laughed at his own crack.  _'People never cease to amaze me.'_

A jolt of throbbing stopped his laugh. Spidey slowly, painfully, raised his right arm and shot a web to the top of the building.  It stuck, but now what?  He tried pulling himself up, but found that moving his arms brought an intolerable sting to his chest.  There was no way he could pull himself up.  He allowed it to break off and fall to the ground.  He was quickly losing both blood and consciousness. As he began to black out, thoughts of M.J. raced through his head.  "Need…M.J…" He began to feel out of breath, and felt as though he was going to die, right there and then.   He stopped trying to hold his head up and let it fall.  He was sprawled on the ground, his head against the wall, facing his apartment.  He could see his bedroom window above, and wished he had went in when he'd had the chance.  But it was too late for that.  Spidey closed his eyes, and let his mind stop working.  His body began to shut down.  His mind went blank, and his breathing ceased.  


	2. Realization

Author's note:  If you're here for the legal info, check Chapter 1.  Well, I got another chapter up.  This is hard work; makes me appreciate all my fellow fan-fic writer's out there.  I don't come right out and say it in this chapter, but just think of the movie.  M.J. is in love with both Spider-Man and Peter Parker, and so far in my story doesn't know that they are one and the same.  Or is that one IN the same?  Oh well, you get my point.  Just read and review, I'll shut up now.  

"…police have not identified the man, but we are told he was a regular bank customer, who was well liked by the whole bank staff.  His assassin, Spider-Man, is being tracked down by the N.Y.P.D. after he escaped from the scene of the crime with over $500,000.00 in cash.  That's right, you're hearing correctly:  Spider-Man has become a criminal.  There is a warrant up for his arrest, with a generous cash reward.  Anyone with any information on him, please contact your local police department.  We are warning citizens who spot him to stay away, for he is armed and dangerous.  Stay tuned for more updates.  This is Don Sanders, for WPYX."

M.J. stood in front of the corner bookstore and listened to the radio report in disbelief. _'How could he?  It can't be him…It's not Spider-Man. He wouldn't.'  _She glanced across the street at the newspaper stand.  On the cover of one of the newspapers was a picture of what looked to be Spider-Man, only holding a gun pointed at the camera.  Camera!  '_Oh my god, Peter might be in trouble!'   _"Sorry!" she shouted apologetically as she bumped into the person in front of her.  "Excuse me!"  She was only 2 blocks from Peter and Harry's apartment, so there was no use taking a cab.  She ran as fast as she could, praying that Peter be alright.  She pulled out the cell phone that he had given her for her birthday.  "Anytime you need me, you can just call me.  I will always be there for you.  And look, I programmed the number in so you don't even have to remember it!"  M.J. remembered herself smiling like a moron.  She had no need for speed dial; she had memorized Pete's number the first time he gave it to her.  She dialed the number.

"Hi, It's Peter and Harry.  No one's home right now – you know what to do.  BEEP."

M.J. hit the "end call" button on her phone and sprinted the last half a block to the apartment.  She ran up the stairs to the top floor and busted through the door of room 13-C.  "Peter!? Harry?  She saw a note on the counter.  She felt a little guilty, but once reading it the feeling was gone.  Once she found out where Harry was, she ran to Peter's room.  The door was open and the bed unmade, but he was no where to be found.  She walked across the room and looked out the open window, across the horizon of New York.  It was a little chilly out, and for a second M.J. wondered why Peter's window was open in the first place.  "Peter, where are you?"  M.J. had never been this worried about anyone before.  She just wanted to know where he was.  He said he'd always be there for her…where was he now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spider-Man grunted as he realized he wasn't dead.  He wasn't dead _yet_, at least.  His spider-sense was sending tingles down his spine and the pain was unbearable.  He couldn't face anyone else right now, not on the verge of death.  All he wanted was M.J.  He needed her so badly right now.  In fact, he needed her so bad that he began hearing her voice.  

"Peter, where are you?"

_'Wait…I really _am_ hearing her!'_  He slowly looked towards the sound of her voice, which was coming from above him.  She was standing in his bedroom window, looking out over the endless jungle of concrete called New York City.  She had a worried look on her face, and held her cell phone in her hand.  For as chilly as it was, she didn't have nearly enough clothes on, but she looked beautiful to Spider-Man. Even in his body's pain, the face behind the mask beamed.  It was as if an angel was looking over him.

"M.J." It wasn't a question or a call, but a statement.  She really was there.  He wasn't imagining this.  He could never envision anything so innocent and stunning, even in his dreams.  "I'm here.  M.J., I'm right here…"  

M.J. smiled to herself as she imagined Peter's reply in her mind.  "Yeah, Pete.  You're always with me.  But I need you for real right now."  She turned away from the window and started to leave the room.  As she reached the door, she heard a funny sound.  Like a rotten orange thrown against the wall.  She turned around to investigate, and ran into a sticky white film that was strung to the ceiling and threaded its way through the room and out the window.  A spider web. 

She followed the web to the window and down the side of the building.  At its origin, she saw a heap of primary colors, stained by a deep crimson colored wetness.  In a flash she was soaring above the streets of New York, being held by a masculine body.  His embrace was warm; she wished it wouldn't end.  Her wish was not granted, as she found she had never left the room, and had not really felt Spider-Man's comfortable grip on her body.  Could it really be him down there, lying in the garbage  and trash-filled puddles of the alley?

"Spider-Man?"

M.J. saw movement, and realized she was right, even though she didn't want to be.  She had a connection with Spider-Man;  she was in trouble, he saved her.  It was funny really….and endless cycle of trouble followed by relief and flirtation.  

"M.J."  For a moment she was gone from the window, and Spidey saw her round the corner into the alleyway.   He saw the look of doubt in her eyes, and saw that she, too, had heard the reports on the news.

"It wasn't me." 

"I know," whispered M.J. as she knelt down beside him and touched his wound.  He winced at the touch, and his body began to shake.  "What happened?"

"Hi M.J… Missed you."  His words were muddy and jumbled, and breathing seemed to be a difficult task for him.

M.J. smiled a sad smile at his feeble attempts to seem fine.  "Hey, Spidey.  What happened?"

The anger, which had left his body with the arrival of pain, returned.  "He…shot me."  Spidey again tried sitting up, and struggled.  

"Lay still!  Who did?"  She put a supportive hand behind his head, firmly pressing him against the ground.  _'He's too weak…'_  M.J. had never seen him so fragile.  He had always been so sturdy, so robust.  It was hard for her to see him like this.

"…Jeb."  _'That damn Jeb and his Lassie.'_

"We need to get you some help."  She hadn't realized it before, but the pool of blood he sat in was slowly getting deeper.  "You…you're losing a lot of blood."

"…Just a…flesh wound."  He smiled at M.J., but she didn't notice with the mask in the way.  She was relieved to hear the sarcasm in his voice; he was injured, but still himself.

"A deep flesh wound.  You stay here, and I'll go get a doctor, or someone who can help."  

He turned his head up to meet her gaze.  "M.J.  You…can't."  He began to cough, and his body went into violent spasms.  M.J. didn't know what to do, but she threw herself against him, trying to stop the movements.  She knew they had to be painful to him.  When the shudder subsided, Spidey opened his eyes to see M.J. lying on top of him, staring into his eyes.   

"Are you ok?"  Her worried look made Spidey laugh.  

"I think…I'll live."  _'I _hope_ I'll live…'_

"It's my turn to save you."

"…Yeah…well, I wish you…the best of luck."  He couldn't hold on much longer.  Spidey felt he needed to let go, let the pain take precedence over his consciousness.  M.J. felt as he began to relax under her grip.  A single tear fell onto Spider-Man's forehead and slowly made it's way down the bridge of his nose.  She watched it for a moment before brushing it away.  Leaning over Spidey, she slowly lifted his mask up over his chin.  He allowed the action, being too weak to stop it.  As the bottom of the mask cleared his lips, she bent down and kissed him.  The taste of his lips brought back so many memories.  Memories of love, hope, grief, denial and more, all at once.  She'd only ever kissed one man the same way before.  A cold, hard realization struck, and terror gripped her thoughts. "I'll be right back," she said as she pulled away.  "Don't go anywhere." M.J. pulled the mask back down and placed a warm hand along his cheek.  "I…I love you."  

Spidey almost stopped breathing at M.J.'s  comment.  She was in love with Spider-Man, and Spider-Man's alter ego was in love with her.  _'Now _that's _irony.'_

"No.  You…can't."  He pushed her away, and lay his head back down.  M.J. felt dejected, but knew she had no time to argue.

"Well, I'm going to save you either way."  She started to stand up, brushing her read hair out of her face.  "But first…I need to know..."  M.J. again reached for Spidey's mask, peeling it away from his skin. 

"M.J…stop."  She immediately stopped and blushed, realizing what she was doing.  "You can't know."

"I…I'm sorry."   

"Me too.  M.J., what if…--"

She held a finger to her lips.  "Shhh.  I'll be back in a little bit, Peter."   Spider-Man froze. His eyes did not blink, he did not breathe.  He thought his heart had stopped beating.  _'She knows.  Oh, god, she knows!'_

"You…you have…wrong guy.  I'm…Spider-Man…remember?"  His breathing was heavy and he could not stay awake for much longer. 

"Yeah, I remember.  Don't go anywhere, Spider-Man."  She vowed not to say his name again.  She wanted to so badly, she almost needed too.  She felt relieved and overwhelmed – the man of her dreams was also within her circle of reality.  _'Why did it take me this long to figure out?  He's always late for things…he's the only photographer at the Daily Bugle able to get good shots of Spider-Man…the way he isolates himself…how could I have been so dumb?!'_

"Yeah…where am I…going to…go?"  _'Maybe she doesn't know.  Maybe I just misunderstood her.  Lots of words sound like Peter.'  _He leaned back and shut his eyes, wishing with all his might that the pain would stop.  His spandex suit was soaked with his blood, making him shiver from the coldness that seemed to creep through to his bones.  "Hurry, M.J.," he whispered to himself. It was the last thing he said before the blood resumed rushing to his head, killing his senses and turning everything dark. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_'Blanket, mattress, hamper, oh god how can I carry him home?'_  M.J. frantically searched Peter's apartment for something to help her carry his body to safety.  "There's nothing here!"  It was impossible.  There was no way M.J., with her light-framed body and weak muscles, could carry Spider-Man anywhere.  She could drag him, but that would be painful.  She looked out the window to see how he was doing.  He was still breathing, slowly, and his head was on the ground.  He was totally limp, lying on his back.  _'He's passed out again…now he can't even help me lift him up!'  _M.J. put her hands to her head as a pounding headache started,  and began to cry again.  She noticed an open window above and to the left of Spidey's head.  She could drag him in there, but what if the occupants of the house were home?  Plus, she couldn't let anyone find out Spider-Man's identity.  _'And I can't let him find out that I know.  It would kill him!'_

         M.J. ran out of the apartment and was soon knocking on the door of the house with the open window.  "Please, nobody be home!"  All she could think of was how much she needed to get Spidey out of the streets.  If somebody else saw him, or if the shooter came back…well, she didn't want to think about that.

         Just as she decided no one was home, the door slowly creaked open.  A ball-and-chain lock was keeping the door from being open more than two inches, and it was just as well in New York City.  

         "Hi.  Who are you?"  A little girl, maybe eight or nine years old, had answered the door.  

         "My name is Mary Jane.  Is your Mommy home?"  _'Please say no, please say no…'_

         "No."  _'Thank you, Lord!'_

"Do you mind if I come in?" M.J. asked the child.

         "Let me ask Daddy, be right back!" The door was shut in M.J.'s face and she could hear footsteps running through the house.   

         _'Daddy?' _thought M.J.  _'Great.  Daddy's home.  Now what!?'_

"May I help you, young lady?"  A booming voice was coming from behind the door that had been again opened, this time by a large man in jeans and a polo shirt.  M.J. was sure that she recognized him from somewhere, but the thought quickly left her mind as an idea entered it.

         "Um, yeah.  My name is Mary Jane Watson, and I'm a reporter for my high school newspaper.  I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the Spider-Man incident that happened earlier today.  Would you mind if I came in?"  She put on her best smile and prayed this would work.  

         She looked innocent enough, and the man recognized her as one of his past acquaintances.  "Sure!  Come on in!  I would love to talk about Spider-Man."

         "Really?  Thanks, Mr.…what did you say your name was?"  M.J. entered through the doorway and the man gestured for her to sit in the living room.  

         He smiled.  "Oh, Mary Jane, you should be ashamed!  It's me, Dr. Marcel.  Your old pediatrician?"

         "Oh, I'm so sorry!  I didn't recognize you! It's been so long since" – M.J. stopped, and remembered Spidey, lying in the alley. "Dr. Marcel, what do _you_ think of Spider-Man?"

         "He's innocent.  He would never have robbed the bank.  He is a savior to the people of New York, and, like every other United States citizen, deserves the right to a fair trial before being shot down by the newspapers and radio." 

         "Spider-Man _has_ been shot down, and he _is _innocent…"  M.J. wished that, for once, her plans would work out as she wanted them to. She started to tremble as she rethought her idea.

         "M.J.?"  Dr. Marcel squinted his eyes at M.J., who only had one response.

         "Can you do me a favor?  I need you to promise me, that if you find out who Spider-Man is, you won't tell anyone." 

         "Dear, what are you talking about?"

         "Promise!" shouted as she stood up and walked to the living room doorway.

         "I promise.  Mary Jane, what's gotten into you?  Are you ok?"  He, too, stood up and turned to his daughter.  "Trisha, go get Mary Jane a glass of water, please?" She left the room.  M.J. ran to the back of the house and found the window under which Spidey was lying unconscious, with Dr.  Marcel at her heels.  

         "Dr. Marcel, you have to help him."  Her eyes welled up with tears, M.J. reached out the window in an effort to pull him through.  After failing miserably, she fell onto the floor beneath the window and put her head in her hand, and just let the tears flow.  Dr. Marcel looked out the window to see what she was talking about.  

         "Oh, dear lord…" the doctor looked horrified, as he reached for the phone on the end table.

         "NO! Dr. Marcel you can't!"  M.J. caught him as he dialed a nine, and then a one…

         "Mary Jane, I…I'm a pediatrician.  Spider-Man is a full grown man, I presume.  I wouldn't know how to help him!" He set the phone back down and went to comfort M.J.

         "You have to.  Try!  I'll help!  But we can't let him die.  I can't…"  

         "I can't promise you that he'll…" -- 

         M.J. cut him off.  "Just pull him in!  We need to get him out of the alley!"

         Dr. Marcel reached out of the window and succeeded in pulling Spidey inside.  As he lay him down on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, Trisha – who had been standing silently at the doorway since M.J. had ran to the window – asked, "Daddy?  Is Spider-Man going to die?" 

         "Trisha, honey, Daddy needs you to go get all the towels you can find and bring them to me.  And hurry, ok?  That's a good girl!"  He turned to M.J. as Trisha left.  "We need to put pressure on the wound.  Put your hands like this," he placed M.J.'s hands over the bullet hole, and held them there, "and press as hard as you can, ok?"

         M.J. gnawed her bottom lip and nodded, unable to talk through her tears.  She could feel Spidey's heart beating beneath her hands, but the beats were growing weaker, and farther apart every minute.  When Dr. Marcel left the room to help his daughter, M.J. reached for Spidey's hand, and she felt him grab hold of her hand.  "Spidey," she whispered, "I'm going to let Dr. Marcel call 911.  Don't worry, I won't let anyone find out who you are.  I won't leave you.  I'll protect you."

         "Can't…"  Spidey's voice was barely audible above M.J.'s sobbing.  _'How did she find out!?'  _He shifted slightly in his position on the floor.

         "Can't what?"  M.J. pleaded for him to come back.  "Don't leave."  But his grip relaxed, and he lay on the white floor, creating a fresh puddle colored a deep red hue.  

         "…just…can't."

Author's note:  Ok, I'm beginning to realize that this story is kind of lame.  I'll never live up to all the other author's out there.  But, if some of you DO happen to like it, press this little button down there.  Yeah, give in to your temptations…press it.  You know you want to……If I get enough (at least five) good reviews, I will continue posting.  If not, I'll take the story off so all the other fine authors can have room for theirs.  I have four more chapters ready, it's just a matter of want and demand here…PRESS IT!  Thanks 


	3. From the Mind of the Spider

I'm back and lucky for you I did get some reviews, most of them good and with *helpful* criticism.  Thank you everyone that made me feel better about myself (most of you). I ended up changing a lot of things in both chapters, so if you haven't reread them you probably should.  Sorry!  I decided that the chapters I do have ready don't really match anymore, and I am changing them, too.  I will try to keep this updated as much as possible, but with school and two jobs…   Oh yeah, and I still don't own Spidey (damn lawyers).   You go read while I sit here and cry.

Author's note: This chapter is a little weird because I switch it from a third person POV to first people's POV's. (Does that make sense?  First people's?) Let me know if it's too confusing.  I want to go more in depth as to how M.J. and Peter feel about each other and themselves.  When it is in Peter/Spider-Mans POV, it's kind of choppy, but keep in mind that he is unconscious, then in pain…  (Lyrics by Erasure: Dreamlike State)

******** Peter/Spider-Man Point of View (Unconsciousness)*************

         Pain.  Incredible, unbearable, unworthy pain.  All I know right now is pain.  Pain that should not be, pain that would not be if I would allow myself to be.  Allow myself to live, to love, to let love. 

         I remember, when I was little,  Aunt May and Uncle Ben took me to a train yard just outside of the city.  We had chocolate ice cream, and I dropped mine.  I cried, and wondered why such terrible things had to happen to such good little boys.   

         I always was a good little boy.

         I never deserved this.  To be loved, to love back, and yet, at the same time, be unable to do it.  Unable to be loved.  Unable to love back.  Forced to push her away.

         And I do love her.  I'm not one to use the word love loosely.  In all of my life, I've only loved two people.  I never loved my parents.  How can you love what you can't remember?  

[Love is cast ornately in your heart flame

Charka wheels are turning like a love train

I could pray a hundred times

Keep these demons from my mind

Yeah, I could pray a thousand times

Stay in your loving arms entwined]

         The answer is, you can't.  You must love what is in front of you, what is real.  Reality.

         But when your reality is as twisted as mine, what do you do?

[Oh that I should be ever so lonely

Driving the pain right through to my heart

Oh that I should be ever so lonely

Riding the pain like a fool in the dark]

         You pity yourself.  You deny the love, pass it up, give it away.  Watch it dwindle until it finally fades away, a balloon rising towards the stars.  You wait for the day, the day when the balloon pops.  It is no longer held in; the pressure is gone.  The pain is gone.

[We shall blur the lines of definition

Waves of love our only ammunition

Tear my head out from the sound

Throw myself upon the ground 

Take me to the burning tree

It has this strange effect on me]

         I'm a bubble.  I float higher and higher.  I become weaker and weaker, until finally I give.  That moment, that pivotal moment when I give into my weakness and allow myself to love, is when I become strong again.  It is necessary.  

[Fascination never tasted sweeter

My desire real and soaring freely]

         But I won't allow myself to burst.  I must keep my shield solid, I must stay strong to protect her.  I must shelter my love, save it for later.

[You alone can save my soul

You alone are my salvation

You alone can make me whole

Rescue me from condemnation]

         If she knows…this changes all.

[Oh that I should be ever so lonely

Driving the pain right through to my heart

Oh that I should be ever so lonely 

Riding the pain like a fool in the dark]

****** Peter/Spider-Man's POV (Consciousness)********* 

         Movement.

         Voices.

         Awareness.

         I am aware.  I think I'm alive.  

         Is that a good thing?

         "Ugh."  A grunt escapes through my lips, causing more pain in my chest.  I feel a hand grip mine, and I hear her voice.

         "Spider-Man!?"  She sounds breathless and terrified.  I think she loves me.  Yeah, I'm pretty sure she loves me.  

         "No."  No, M.J.  It's me, Peter.  Peter Parker.  Don't you remember me?  

         "Dr. Marcel!  He's alive!  He's breathing, and talking!" 

         I take a deep breath, prepare to open my eyes, and when I do, I see…

         Love.  Pure love.

         Dazzling emerald eyes, wet with moisture and framed by a red fringe, stare into mine.  I am again sentient of her hand squeezing mine.  I release my grip and bring my hand to her face, tracing her jaw line, feeling the warmth her body gives off.  

         I'm cold.  I can't feel my body, but I realize I'm shaking.  Shivering.  It is affecting my vision, and that cannot happen.  I need to see her.  She's my only hope, my only reason for coming back.

         "It's a bit chilly."      

         The smile, radiant, bright and full, blinds me.  But it is nothing compared to the laugh that comes from her throat.  It's a sigh of relief, really.  In the form of laughter.  

         My hand moves to her throat, caressing it, willing the sound to flee from within again.  Suddenly, pain returns.  My body begins to tense, my hand falls to the floor.  I need to get out.  It's too much.  I can't take it.  "M.J."

         "What's wrong, what hurts?!  You have to tell us.  Don't leave."

         "I'm going to take a nap.  I'll be back."  My voice is raspy and it discomfits me.  It's not supposed to be like that.  I'm supposed to be strong, I need to fight my emotions.

         I need sleep.

         I hear her crying.  All I want to do is take a nap.  I'm not leaving, M.J.  Please don't cry.  

         Now, all I can see it colors.  They swirl through my mind, lots of reds and blues.  They form pictures, thoughts, and words…

         Dreams are fun.

         I don't remember anything now.  I see white.  The pain is retreating.  It's gone.  

         I can only wish it won't return.  I don't want it.  I don't deserve it.

         Emptiness.  

         Plainness.

         And finally, oblivion. 

         My sanctuary.  

I know this was a short one, but I'm putting the next one up within 1 or 2 days.  It's M.J.'s point of view.  I know it's slow and boring, but I need to set their feelings for the rest of the story.  Just hang on, we'll make it.  Please review, let me know how it is.  Thanks.


	4. And the Eyes of the Angel

Wow, I never thought so many people would read my story!  Thank you everyone for the great reviews!  Oh, and I did figure out how to accept anonymous reviews for those of you that complained…it was easy to do, but this is what happens when you have blonde hair.  Sorry for my stupidity!  Still no word on the Spidey Trial (that's the one where I get a lawyer and have him tell the world that Spidey is MINE, all mine) so you can thank Marvel Comics for his incredible hotness.  Here's Chapter 4 – M.J.'s POV.

********M.J.'s POV (Consciousness)*********

"All he said was he wanted to take a nap, and then he was unconscious again."  Dr. Marcel looked at me with visible concern in his eyes. 

We sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure out what to do.  What we could do.

"And that was all?  Nothing else?"  Why does he keep asking me so many questions?  I tried to remember…I hadn't really been listening to what he was saying.  When I'd felt Spider-Man's grip at my hand, I'd lost control.  How can he expect me to remember his words when I was so excited by just the movement of his fingers?

"…I think that was it.  He said he was cold, and…"  I trailed off as I again turned to face him, lying so serenely on the floor.  He was ok; I felt it within myself.  He was going to be ok.       

I wanted so desperately to pull the mask up, to look into the sapphire eyes normally swirling with hope and optimism.  But I couldn't.  I couldn't bring myself to pull away what he had worked so hard to keep hidden.  I couldn't expose him. 

I didn't need to.  

Because I knew.  

          I knew that shy, withdrawn Peter Parker had the weight of the world – ok, just New York City – on his shoulders…  But New York is a big place.  How does he do it?  How is it possible, with college, a job – 

My thoughts were cut off as Dr. Marcel stooped down to take a pulse.  He seemed satisfied with the results.  "His breathing is steady and he has a stable pulse.  He should be ok with plenty of rest.  His chest is already beginning to heal…it's amazing.  It seems like his body works far above the range of a normal human.  But he needs rest and liquids; he lost a lot of blood.  We should probably call a hospital, maybe they could keep him in their care until he is fully recovered."  

What?  A hospital?  He can't…they…  "Dr. Marcel, we can't do that."

"Why not?"  He searched my face for an answer.  I'm convinced he knows how I feel for Spider-Man…I hadn't left his side through the whole ordeal.  I'd even broken off my idea to call 911, to keep his identity hidden.  Dr. Marcel had done everything.  His best friend was a surgeon, and it showed.  He'd removed the bullets and stopped the bleeding.  He'd sewn the wound and placed a bandage around Spidey's rib cage. 

And Spider-Man was still alive.

What if he hadn't been?

Don't think about that, M.J.

"If we take him to a hospital, someone will find out who he is.  A supposed human with special powers?  Everyone wants to know who he is, even you.  Admit it.  And they would use him as a science experiment, inspecting his body and his powers…"  He doesn't deserve that kind of torture.  Being herded around like a lab rat, poked and prodded by professors and doctors…

"I do want to know who he is.  But I promised you M.J., and I won't break you're promise."  He plopped down on the couch, rubbing his tired eyes.  "What do you propose we do?"  

Now that I looked at the situation from far away, I didn't really have a solution.  I wasn't even close to an idea, either.  He needs to be somewhere safe, where he won't be expected.  Somewhere people don't go but also somewhere where I can watch and protect him.  Peter has his own apartment, but Harry is there.  He's in the process of moving out, coming and going all the time.  That leaves…

My apartment.  Makes sense…I'm the only one there, no one ever visits me…and I'd get to spend some quality time with Peter…

Stop it M.J.!  This is not about letting Peter know you know.  He needs to get better.  You can't let him know!  It would kill him, make him feel…wait: why would his being Spider-Man interfere with our relationship?  What makes him think that we can't be together?  I don't get it.  I…oh yeah, I need to find somewhere to put him…

My apartment is the only choice that makes sense.  The only sensible one.

Letting out a big sigh, I stood to face Dr. Marcel.  "Can you help me take him to my house?"  There was no way I could lift him myself, and even if I did I would end up hurting him.

"I'll help you do whatever you feel is safe."

"Yeah.  It is."  It will be.  Nothing can go wrong.  No one will know.

I bent back down to Peter, giving him a kiss on the forehead.  "You'll be ok," I whispered into his ear. "You'll be safe."  As I stood up I turned to Dr. Marcel, wanting to thank him for everything he'd done.  He gave me a poignant smile when he noticed me watching him.

"Thank you."  I stepped closer to him, embracing him in a quick hug.  "For everything.  I can never repay you."  

"You're welcome, M.J.  And I don't expect you to repay me."

"You have no idea how grateful I am.  He means the world to me."  I hadn't realized until I'd almost lost him. "I guess it's true what they say…you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone."  He was still here, but in my disturbed state I had experienced how much I needed him.  I looked down at the floor, not wanting Dr. Marcel to notice my fogging eyes.

"Well…let's just get him settled at your house…he's going to be in your care.  Do you think you can manage alone?"  

"Yeah.  I'll have to."

"Ok, then, let's get him over there."

A thought occurred to me.  The only way to get to my apartment a few blocks away was walking, or a cab, unless… "Do you have a car?"  We couldn't very well drag Spider-Man through New York City, at least not inconspicuously; if someone saw just one of his _feet_, a legendary red webbed boot, we would be exposed.  That's how much he means to this city…everyone knows who he is, what he stands for…

"Yeah. Luckily.  I have to drive just outside the city to get to the office."

Whew.  I wiped sweat on my brow, and began to calm down again.  I had begun to get worked up over how we were going to get him to my apartment.  We can pull this off.  We have to.

Dr. Marcel found his car keys and pulled his black SUV into the alley.  I again climbed the stairs of Peter's apartment and searched his room for spare clothes and necessities.  I didn't want to have to leave him alone at my apartment at all unless I absolutely had too, so I had to make sure he would have everything he needed.

As I walked pass the alleyway, I heard Dr. Marcel call from within the shadowy brick walls.  I noticed that the sun was tapering, transforming the sky into a brilliant show of colors and streaks.  The pinks and blues contrasted each other, as though the opposite ends of the atmosphere were at war, desperate to determine which could be more stunning and enchanting.  I watched the battle for a few moments, letting my mind wander.  

And wander it did.

Within a matter of seconds, my mind had recapped the entire day, and my body fell victim to the exhaustion of it all.  I forced myself to mentally return to the alley in which I was physically standing.  As soon as I get to the apartment, I can sleep…

The thought of future sleep and the safety of Spidey were the only things that kept me going.  Without them, I would have lay down, right there in the alley, and slept on the cold ground.   

After I had finished drifting through my mind, I shuffled over to Dr. Marcel and Spidey.  We pulled him through the window, positioning him behind the backseat where it was flat and he wouldn't be noticed.  From what we could see he didn't wake up, but it was hard to notice with the mask in place. For what seemed like the eight millionth time that night, I had to resist the urge to lift the material off his face.  I sat in the front passenger seat so that I wouldn't be tempted. 

 As if I could be temped anymore than I already was.

The ride to my apartment was uneventful.  The last of the colors in the sky faded, and a few bright stars began to sparkle through the city haze.  By the time we reached our destination, it was completely dark.  Neither blue nor pink had won.  Instead, blackness had swallowed them both, deleting the rivalry and forming a truce for the next twenty-four hours. 

Dr. Marcel drove the vehicle to the back of my apartment, sidling up to the fire escape that led to my window.  

"Which one is yours?" 

I pointed up, to the second highest window, two from the left.  "That one."

I watched as a silent 'wow' formed on his lips.  "Ok…um, how about you go open your window, and then we can carry him up the stairs and through it."

I tried picturing this in my mind, and found it impossible.  "Will that work?"

"He's heavy, but it's going to have to do.  Unless you want to try taking him up through the building."

When I weighed my options, the fire escape seemed safer for Peter.  More risky, because of its gradient and lack of handles, but it was definitely less obvious than dragging him through an apartment complex full of eighty people.

"No, the fire exit makes more sense…I'll be back."  I left the SUV and ascended the stairs to my room.  After sliding the key into the hole, I entered with a moan of weariness.  So tired…  

 I undid the window latch and opened the weighty glass pane, remembering to remove the metal screen.  I made sure that no unmentionables were in sight within my apartment, then went back outside to assist Dr. Marcel in hauling Spidey up to my room.  We decided that I would support his head and go first, and Dr. Marcel would follow with his feet.  We made sure to cover his body with a bed sheet, so that if anyone happened to pass by, which was doubtful, they wouldn't know it was Spider-Man.  It would look suspicious, but Peter would be safe…and that was all that mattered.

Slowly, cautiously, we made our flight up the stairs, step by step, until we finally found ourselves on the landing at the top.  The whole way up, I kept thinking, jeez, this boy is _whacked_.  He didn't stir once, despite my poor grip and unsteadiness.  When we laid Spider-Man down, I hopped through the window onto the linoleum floor of my kitchen, that, in reality, was no more than a living room with a stove, sink and fridge.  I stretched my arms out to the landing and wrapped them around Spidey's shoulders in an uncomfortable position.  I wasn't sure if I could sustain my grasp long enough to get him through the window.  

Dr. Marcel took hold of his legs and feet.  "Ok, on the count of three.  Ready?"

"Yep."  I was ready.  As ready as I'd ever be, anyway.  He was so hefty…but so fit and…proportionate.  He had the perfect body.  

"One…"  I made sure my grip was as tight as possible.  "…two…"  It was.  I got ready to lift.

"Fourteen."  What?  I was caught off guard, and looked to Dr. Marcel.  

Our eyes met, and I questioned him with a simple "Fourteen?"   A blank look sheltered his face, which shifted from confusion to revelation.  

"Well," he said, "I guess our little patient is awake."  He smiled at me.

"Oh!" Things began to make sense again.  I felt Spider-Man's hand make contact with mine, and he gently squeezed it before setting it upon his chest.  "I guess he is."

"What…what are you doing?  Where are we?"  

"You're going to stay at my place until you're better."  My body tensed as I waited for his response.  I had the feeling he wasn't going to just accept this as it was.  It was his 'thing' to argue.  

"Ok."  

My eyebrows shot up and I stood looking at him, head cocked to the side like a confused dog.  "Ok?"

"What, do you want me to change my mind?"  I could imagine him grinning under the mask.  How was it possible for Peter Parker and Spider-Man to be so completely different, yet exactly the same?  Spider-Man was so…sarcastic, wise-cracking…and Peter was so…Well, Peter was just Peter.  Sweet, innocent, clever Peter.  Peter, who'd always seemed so naïve to the world around him.  My Peter. 

Well, I was being rather possessive, wasn't I?

I looked down at him, and shook my head.  "Not at all."

"Ahem."  Dr. Marcel cleared his throat.  "I hate to break this gathering up, but we _are_ on a landing outside an apartment building with Spider-Man.  And plus, Trisha is still at home.  Alone.  Let's get him inside.  And you," he declared, pointing at Spidey, "just lay still.  You don't want to rip your stitches."

"Stitches?" 

Dr. Marcel directed his sights towards me.  "She'll explain.  I really have to get home.  Grab his shoulders, M.J."

"Got them."

"One…two…"

"Wait."  Spidey held his hand up, motioning for us to stop.  "Can't I at least try to stand up?  I feel fine.  Really."

"Let's get you through the window first.  You can't move well enough to squeeze through that opening without tearing something."

"Look, I'm not helpless."

"Maybe not now.  But a few hours ago, you were lying on my floor, bleeding, ready to die.  Do you realize that?  You almost died."

The retort must have hit home with Spidey, because he fell silent and let his body relax.

"Now then.  One, two…THREE!"  I put all my strength into lifting his upper body through and over the window ledge.  He placed his arms around my shoulders and attempted to stand on his own feet.  He was a bit wobbly, but with only a little support, he was fine.  

"Are we ok?"  Dr. Marcel was halfway through the window. 

"Yeah.  We're cool."  

He smirked at my answer.  "You teenagers…  I'm going to go.  Here's my number," he set a business card on the counter next to the fridge.  "Call me if you need anything."

"Will do.  Thank you for everything Dr. Marcel."

"You're welcome.  Feel better, Spider-Man.  I expect to see you out saving people within a few weeks.  I don't want my office too full."  He waved his hand in a goodbye, and left the way he came.  Through the window.   

Once he was gone, I started to walk Spider-Man to my bedroom.  

"Did he say weeks?"

I had thought the same thing.  If his health had progressed far enough within a few hours that he was able to walk with only a little help, why would it take a few weeks for him to heal fully?  I didn't feel like talking about that, though.  I wanted sleep. 

 "I don't know.  Here, hold on to this."  I motioned to the door jamb.  He did as I told him, and I went to the bed and pulled down the sheets.  When I looked back, he was standing independently.  "Ok, Mr. Icandoanything.  If you don't need my help, then I'm going to bed."  I was trying to be funny…it wasn't my forte.  I just wanted to be goofy.  I'd had enough seriousness for one day.

He stood there and looked at me for what seemed like an eternity.  Finally, he spoke.  "Thank you, M.J."  Well, way to blow that idea off the face of the earth.

"You…you're welcome.  But Dr. Marcel is the one who really saved your life.  You should have thanked him while he was here."

Spidey looked down at the ground, and I saw his chest lift as he let out a noiseless sigh.  "Yeah.  I should have."

"Well, you can tomorrow.  You can sleep in my room.  Keep the door closed, just incase.  I'll sleep on the couch out here.  And I'm going to bed soon.  I think I'm already asleep."

"If you're that tired, I refuse to take your bed away from you."

"You're not taking it.  It's being given to you."  I ushered him into the room, and he sat on the edge of the bed.  "Do you need anything?"

"You've done enough.  I need you to go get some rest."

"I won't argue with that.  I'll see you in the morning."  I put my hand on the back of his head, giving him a kiss where his lips would be.  He pivoted his neck, providing me improved access.  He did not reject nor return the action, only sat silent for a few moments afterwards.

"And Spider-Man?

"…Hmm?"  He was still in a daze.

"That wasn't a question, it was a demand."  I left him, bewildered, in the room, shutting the door behind me.  I put the screen back and shut the window, pulling the blinds down.  Within seconds I had curled myself into a ball on the couch and fell asleep.   

******M.J.'s POV (Unconsciousness)*************

The dream came.  The same one that had come every night since our talk after the funeral.  

Peter stands in front of Uncle Ben's headstone and professes his love for me.  I stand and take it, blow by torturous blow, unable to react.  Powerless to reveal my true feelings for him.  Compelled, by some unknown force, to tell him that I do not love him.

Is this how it feels for him every time he looks at me?

And if so…why?

What can possibly be stronger than love?  What power, if any, can make someone deny their exact feelings and emotions?

What is this monster, this abomination?

This night, tonight, is the first night in which the reverie has an ending.  Now I know.  I understand the horrible beast that forces him to keep his love inside.  He values his anonymity.  It's the only way to keep others safe.  

Or is it?

I turn to Peter, not daring to open my mouth.  The force has succumbed to my will, for the time being.  It cannot be rid of eternally, only hidden within the depths of my heart and soul.

I still cannot tell Peter that I love him.

But for now, he will not have to think that I don't.

There has to be another way.  A solution exists, and I will seek it.  

I will seek it, and I will find it.

There is a way.

Whew…sorry about the long wait.  How was I supposed to know I was going to get so much homework?  If I'd had it my way, this would have been posted on Thursday.  Let me know what you think…and sorry about the eerie dream she had.  It's supposed to make sense, really.  It just doesn't want to.  See you in chapter 5.  

Press the button!!!


	5. Claudius

Nope.  I still don't own him.  Marvel said I'm not cool enough.  I think they're lying, though.  I'm pretty damn cool.  

Oh, and I know it's kind of confusing, but when M.J. and Peter/Spider-Man narrate, they sometimes talk to themselves.  It's not quoted or italicized or anything in the past chapters (I might go back and change it) but in this one I'm going to start italicizing it again – I realized that it's confusing without it.

Is anyone still reading this?  If someone is, here's chapter 5.  Hope you like it.  Review it if you do! (or even if you don't – I don't mind constructive criticism!)

********M.J.'s POV (Consciousness)****************

         I was roused by a chilling draft flowing amid the walls of my apartment.  As I reached down to the floor to recover my lost blanket, I remembered… 

_Spider-Man is  in my room.  Sleeping in my bed.  Between my bed sheets, with his head on my pillow._

_Is it wrong to feel so excited by his presence?  He is, after all, a person.  There is nothing different between him and every other Joe Schmoe in New York City.  Zilch.  Nada.  Zippo._

_If you don't count the fact that he's half arachnid. _

 _But other than that, he's just Peter Parker.  A guy you've known since fourth grade.  College student, part-time job, dreams of a happy future.  _

_And one hell of a night life, I'm sure._

Wrong or not, I was excited.

I threw the blanket back on the ground and rose from the makeshift bed.  The tile floor, cold against my bare feet, was littered with the belongings I had brought with me from Peter's room.  He hadn't changed last night, which meant he was still in his blood stained spandex.  Picking up the nearest pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I crept through the rest of the mess to my room.

I knocked quietly on the door, and waited for a response.  None_.  He must still be sleeping._  The door creaked open, and I peeked inside.  

So _that's_ where the draft was coming from…

The curtains swayed gently in the breeze, pushed by a subtle autumn wind streaming through the open window.  I looked to the bed, almost expecting what I saw.  The sheets were pulled back, exposing a bare mattress.  A crumpled piece of paper lay on the pillow.  Slowly, I walked over to the note, bending down to read the scribbled message – 'I stole your phone'.

         "Didn't anyone ever teach you that stealing was bad?"  I caught myself talking aloud and hushed myself.  _Well, only one thing to do now._  

         _No one, not even Spider-Man, disobeys M.J.'s orders and gets away with it._

         That boy was going to get it.

************Peter's POV (Consciousness)*************

_That was stupid, Peter…_

         I was suspended by a network of white ropes, hanging beneath Claudius.

         Yeah.  Claudius.

         He lives in a crack between a rusted gargoyle and a tier on top of an abandoned mansion.  He's a spider.  Enoplognatha ovata.  Similar looking to the spider that gave me my powers, but not quite the same.  He's normal – not mutated.

         Hey, a superhero's got to have _some_ friends that he can trust with his secrets.

         _Someone could have seen you leaving M.J.'s place.  Someone could have been waiting, watching, suspecting…and then what?  Connections would be made, you would be associated with M.J… Someone would find out._

_You're lucky.   _

In more ways than one.  No one had seen me.  And, I'd made it.  I'd lived.  My body hurt, but the pain felt good.  It reminded me that I _was_ still alive.

         I watched the sun rise and a new day begin.  A light rain was falling, moistening the sidewalks and erratic patches of grass.  Glancing up, I noticed Claude's silken spider web, glistening with dew.  Not strangely enough, I felt at home here, amidst the shadows and spiders.  Under the gargoyles as they protected the city with watchful eyes.  I felt like I belonged.  I wasn't different.  I fit in.

_         I could be dead right now. _

         Why couldn't I get that thought out of my head?  

I had woken up early, before the rush of traffic started, before New Yorkers began their daily lives.  I felt as though I owed Dr. Marcel.  And I did.  Owe him, I mean.  It wasn't just a feeling.  The man had saved my life. 

_ No, he had saved Spider-Man's life. He doesn't know who I am.  That I'm just a boy.  A boy that lives in the apartment behind his house, a boy who had been his patient for the primary years of my life_.

And then once more after those years.

So I had snuck out of M.J.'s through the window.  I'd swung to my apartment, avoiding light and people.   Took a shower and cleaned myself off, never realizing how bad blood could stain one's skin.  Watched as red puddles swirled down the drain, spinning into whirlpools and vortexes.

Then, for some odd reason, I'd thought of Dr. Marcel's floor.  The tile that I'd lain on, semi-consciously, for far too many long, terrifying hours.  

I'd changed into regular clothes and hailed a taxi to the drug store.  Bought some extra strength floor cleaner and a brand new mop.  I'd made sure that neither he nor Trisha were home, and…I won't say I broke in – was it really my fault he didn't lock the window? – but I had entered my "hospital" and cleaned up the stains that I'd left.  I'd placed a thank you note on the kitchen table.  Thanked him for all that he did, although I really couldn't thank him enough.  Said that anytime he or anyone he knew needed me, to let M.J. know.  But only if it was important.  Having one person know of our closeness was already one person too many.  

After that, I'd again gone to my apartment, this time changing into one of the spare suits I kept hidden around.  

And now, here I was.

Hanging, thinking, and occasionally squirming from the dull ache in my chest.  But the thinking hurt most of all.  I had no leads on who would – _could_ – frame me.  He'd had _webbing_, for one.  And he -- 

A strange sensation at my right hip pulled me from my thoughts.  It was as if my spider-sense were going off, but…different.  I reached up and felt a hard rectangular object protruding out of the side of my red spandex.  What the…?

_Oh.  Duh.  M.J.'s phone._

It was vibrating.  No ring.  Just vibrator.  I picked it up, looking at the display which read 'UNFOUND NUMBER' in bold letters.  Pressed the answer button and held the plastic to my ear.  "This is the butcher, what's your beef?"

         "You!"  _Wow.  She sounds mad_.  "Pe -- Spidey, where are you?  I _distinctly_ remember telling you to --"   

         _Pe-Spidey?  _"What did you just call me?"  She'd slipped again, or I was hearing things.  

Again.

         "…Spidey?"  

         I needed to know.  One way or the other.  Maybe she hadn't said "Pe".  Maybe it was static on the phone…_Or maybe you just keep making up excuses and stories, telling yourself that she doesn't know.  _If she knows, she knows.  "M.J.  Let's talk.  Meet me at --"

         "No.  You will get your wise-cracking little red-and-blue ass back here so I can feed you a good breakfast and you can get some rest."

         She was beyond mad.  Unless she was kidding.  That's what I loved about M.J. – she was so spontaneous, sporadic, that you never expected what came next.  You could never tell what she was thinking or how she would react.

"I already ate."

         "Oh yeah?  Well, what could you _possibly_ eat that would be better than one of my home cooked meals?"  I almost choked holding back a laugh.  I'd seen this girl cook.  She was to food like Picasso was to art – to other artists the pieces make sense, but the undistinguished public just wants to know what the hell it is.

"Flies."  I heard silence on the other end of the line.  "M.J., I'm kidding.  I'm not a _total_ freak.  I'll be over in a few minutes."

"You'd better be."

         "Or else…?"  

"Or else I'll come after you, and cram some rest down your throat."  I heard a giggle.  _Yep, she's kidding._

"Is that possible?"

"Do you really want to find out?" 

"No, I guess I don't."  I really didn't.  It sounded painful.

"Then get over here.  Now."

"Yes, ma'am.  Just let me get my army uniform, maybe you can teach me some drills or something."

"You've got five minutes."

"Oh.  Well.  In that case, I'll see you in two."

"Will you just hang up the phone?" 

"Does this mean you don't like talking to me?"

"I'm hanging up."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Ok, then.  Do it."

"No."

"No?"

"No.  You first.  I called you, so you have to hang up."

"M.J., what are you talking about.?"

"Phone rules," she said simply.  _Like I know anything about talking on the phone?  I'm a male._  This conversation needed to end.

"Bye M.J."  Not waiting for a response, I hit the "end call" button on the keypad and slid the baby blue Nokia between my skin and suit.  I climbed up my web to the top of the roof and surveyed the ground below me.  Cabs flew over the street and through the intersections and people milled along the sidewalks, stopping at newsstands and food hawkers.   I wondered if Jeb was down there.  Or maybe my evil twin.  

Before descending, I made sure to say goodbye to Claudius.  "It was nice hanging with you, Claude.  No pun intended.  I'll be back." And I would.  It was one of the few spots in the city that I could go to for some deep thinking.  _And I'll definitely be doing a lot of that in the next few days._

Sticking to the back alleys, so the ever-gullible New Yorkers wouldn't see me and shoot me (again), I threaded my way back to M.J.'s.  I walked most of the way, probably for the better.  Swinging was still agonizing, and I didn't want to reopen the gash.  

_Well, here I am, _I thought to myself as I hid in the shadows near the stumpy apartment building.  Taking a quick glance around and seeing nobody, I quickly ascended the fire escape.  It felt good to do it myself this time.  Almost rewarding.  I entered through the window.  Doing so reminded me of something my English teacher used to say to me every time I got in the way. "You make a better door than a window."  Except, instead of me, the _window_ made a better door than a window.  Which didn't really make sense.  I mean, it was a window. 

All I can say is I must have still been tired.  

Either that or Dr. Marcel gave me some kind of medication.  Some strong medication. 

"Get in here.  Sit.  Eat.  And don't you ever, _ever_ run away like that again."  I was verbally attacked before I was halfway through my window-door.  There she stood, with an anxious look on her face and an accusing finger thrust into mine.  

"Oh, come on, M.J.  I'm fine.  I needed to get some fresh air."  Her face softened and a smile crept onto my lips.  _I win this argument._

"Yeah, but…something could've happened."

"You think I don't know that?  I'm careful."  _Sometimes._

_Oh, you just butt out of this, conscience._

She released a withheld sigh, and I swiftly became serious.  "We need to talk."

"…About what?"  She must have noticed the significance in my voice, and seemed frightened.  What was she afraid of?  

_Stupid question, Pete.  Wouldn't it be better to ask, why are _you_ so terrified?_

I wanted to cry.  I'd waited for this day so long, postponed it due to my worries, my thoughts, my veracity.  And now it was here.  I started doubting my choice to bring her into the picture.  

"About…"  A long pause.  It stretched on forever.  _Do it, Peter.  She already knows.  Telling her won't hurt.  It can't._

_Unless she doesn't know._

_But she does!_

_Either way…_

I let my breath out.  _Now or never, Pete.  _"About me."

"Ok…what about you?"  Her words were slow and select.  If I didn't already have a few leads to her knowledge of…me…then I'd be more apt to believe she didn't know.  

"About _me_.  Who I am."  The brilliant green spheres made their way ever so slowly from the floor up to my mask.  Looked into my silver mirrored lenses, and into me.

I didn't move.  I couldn't.  I could do nothing but wait for her to say something.  We stood for a while, staring at each other, wondering when the other would speak.  It was tense.  In an intimate kind of way.  

Finally, a soft whisper broke the silence.  "Who are you, Spider-Man?"  I watched as her lips trembled, and her lashes fluttered to halt her tears from dropping.

_Tell her.  Just tell her.  _

Taking a step closer, I reached for her hand.  "Either you're a very good actress, or completely ignorant."  My other hand reached for the cuff of the mask at my neck.  Pulled it towards my jaw.  Lifted it slowly, exposing the bottom half of my face.

"I…"  She was rudely cut off as my lips invaded hers, taking the life from them.  Abusing them.  

"You what?"  She pulled back, tracing the edges of my lips with her silky fingers, eating them with her eyes.  I watched as she gnawed on her own lower lip with white, pearly teeth.  My fingers raised automatically to brush the wisps of hair from her face. 

God, she was so damn beautiful.

"I…I love you."

It wasn't the first time she'd told me that.  But still, I wasn't expecting it.  I had no answer.

"How many times do I have to tell you that, Pete?"

  



	6. Return to ImposterLand

Welcome back! Sorry this one took so long.  

         I'm going to apologize in advance for the Peter/Peter and M.J./M.J. arguments…you'll see what I mean. They argue with their consciences and it's just plain weird.  Sorry!

         No, I don't own Spider-Man.  Why don't you rub it in?

**********Peter's POV*************    

My life was changed forever.  Because of one comment, one tiny little event, I could never be the same again.

         _Not like this is the first time that's happened._

But this is different.  She loves me, I love her, and we can finally be together.

The morning progressed into evening, then into night, until weariness finally beckoned me into the sagging couch cushions.  I had told M.J. everything - from being bitten, to Uncle Ben's death, all the way through what had happened in the elevator shaft.  Apparently, she had known the whole time about Mr. Osborne – who he was and what he did. At first, it had seemed odd to me...but then I remembered that I was talking about M.J.  Considering her outstanding ability to unravel any and all situations, it wasn't strange at all.  She'd known who I was, too, and what I'd done.

         More specifically, what I'd chosen not to do.

**         (FLASHBACK START)**

"Peter…Pete, how did you do it?  How did – do you – live with yourself?!"  She affectionately gripped my arm with her warm hands and searched my eyes for the answer.  She could, now; my mask had been removed after…The Kiss.  She knew, and that meant we could be together.  

         "I didn't, M.J.."  I had secluded myself from all I loved, became even more of an outcast.  A recluse preoccupied with self-pity and isolation.  "I just…look, I really don't want to talk about this.  I…can't."  The question brought back so many memories, so many things I had tried so hard to forget.  I had put them into the back of my mind for the time being, but knew that they would always resurface to haunt me.  "I can't."

I had killed Mr. Osborne.

         _No, Pete.  He killed himself.  _

But I didn't do anything.  I could have helped him, called 911 or something…

_He was trying to kill you._

         "Talking helps.  You should talk about it, get it out in the open."  Why was she so damn persistent?!

"No, M.J.!  I _don't_ want to talk about it!"  Didn't she realize how horrible this was for me?  She was torturing me by igniting my own emotions.  I rose abruptly from my seat at the table and crossed to the window above the kitchen sink.  

         I heard her meek voice rise from the sudden quietness.  "I'm sorry, Pete."  Turning back to face her, I noticed the shocked look on her face.  

         I let out a deep sigh.  "Me too, M.J.  Please, I…"  I put my head in my hands, rubbed my face and eyes.  "It's just…I…I can't…"  It was no use.  There was just no way to put my emotions into comprehensible words.   No way to make her understand.  "You wouldn't understand."

         Her eyes grew large with the slight dropping of her jaw.  "Only because you won't let me!"  

         "You're right," I answered calmly, simply.  "I won't.  Don't you see, M.J.?  I don't want you to understand.  This is _not_ your cross to bear."

         The way she looked at me with those puppy eyes, begging me to let her help me…

         _She can't.  She can't help you.  No one can help you.  _

_         You can't even help yourself._

_         Even still, it's a nice feeling having somebody to be able to talk to…somebody to trust…_

**(FLASHBACK END)**

And so, it was decided that M.J. would be my ally, my partner.  However you want to say it.  My supporter and my assistant collaborator.  Oh, yeah, and my girlfriend.  

         My girlfriend.

         I definitely liked that title best.   

         Do you have any idea of how long I've waited – scratch that – _needed_ to say that? 

         _Too long._

         But now, I have a purpose.  I have the drive and motivation to do everything to the best of my abilities, more so than I had before.  I have faith in myself, and in her.  Especially in her.  I finally have something steadfast; a constant to hold my life together.  A love, resolute and unyielding, to help me along the way.

         I lay on the couch, contemplating my life and future.  Enjoying the relaxation that I never seem to get enough of.__

_         Why?  How is it,  with all that is going on, that you're able to relax?  You can't just lie here and do nothing!  You need to get to the bottom of this._

"You know what, conscience?  You're only good for one thing."

         _What's that, Peter?_

"Spoiling things."

         _Ah…don't you think you should get going?_

"Tomorrow.  I promise."  One more night, conscience.  Just give me one more night of peace.  One more night of sanity.  

         I drifted off into a restless sleep.  All I remember of the night is that each time I woke, I found myself searching my mind for ideas or clues…remembering faces I haven't seen in years.  Trying to link someone, anyone, to this baffling episode of my complicated life.  I was subconsciously working on the mystery.

         Imagine you get a jigsaw puzzle for your birthday.  There is no picture on the box; instead you have to figure out what goes where on your own.  The only clue you have is that the picture on the puzzle will show you something that will drastically change your life, quite possibly kill you.  Other than that you have no leads, and the only person there to help you is blind.  

I know what you're thinking.  "Spider-Man…you're a superhero.  You've saved lives, cities even.  You've stopped numerous merciless villains from destroying New York.  _Surely_ you can do a jigsaw puzzle."

Now imagine that when you open the box, pieces are missing.  The ones that _are _there are irregular and don't fit together.

         And don't even think about starting with the corners and straight edges.

         There are none.         

         Just a jumbled mess of cardboard cutouts.

         So you want to know what I'm thinking?

         I may be a hero to some, but never a superhero.  All I am is some confused kid with an unusual power, trying to do what I think is right.  You think jigsaw puzzles are easy?  I'll trade you lives.  You try being me for a day, and see how much you like it.  See how much you hate yourself for the things you'll do.  Regret your actions on a day-to-day basis, and just _try_ to love yourself…

         Try.  You'll see.

         It doesn't work.

************M.J.'s POV***************

         Thus far, all of my life has been a pretense.  I've breezed through it with a disguise on, ignoring problems, believing they would go away if they weren't noticed.  If you can't see it, it must not be there.  No one knew about my home life, mainly because I didn't have one.  I had an abused mother who couldn't learn to stick up for herself, and my stepfather…I prefer not to talk about him.  

         When I met Peter – now I mean when I really met him, this morning, when I saw the world through his eyes – I realized how staged my life is.  Every morning I wake up, force a smile on my face, and go out into the world as a sweet, carefree, high school student.  I hang out with the popular crowd, blend in with all the bubbly cheerleaders and laugh at the jocks' dim-witted jokes.  On the outside, people see me living my fun, happy life.

         On the inside, I just want out.  I want away from it all.  

         I remember being very young, with my father on a ferry crossing the Hudson Bay.  We were on a trip to my Aunt Sybil's house for a three day weekend, just me and my dad.  I wasn't too old, maybe six or seven.  But as we sat on the deck, watching the giant paddle at the back of the ferry, we had a conversation that, until now, I had forgotten.  He told me to always be myself; to never be afraid of who I am or what I can accomplish.  "Always reach for the moon, M.J.," he'd said.  "Even if you miss, you'll land with the stars."

         I never took his advice.  I never believed in myself.  I never had to.  That's what my 'friends' are for.  We can just lean on each other's reputations and be happy.  Status id all that matters in life, anyway.  Who cares about the real you?  No one.  

At least, that's what I used to believe.

         Peter, on the other hand, had always been himself.  All through elementary school and junior high he was picked on for being the nerd, the teacher's pet, the freak.  In high school he was the genius.  Yet he never strayed from himself; he didn't change, even to please the bullies that stole his lunch money.  Why would he do that, and give them the satisfaction they didn't deserve?

         Now, I've learned that people like Peter, people who matter, care about the real me.  

         I've also learned that_ I _need to care about the real me.  I need to let her out.  I need to be myself to be happy.

         "I can do that."  I smiled as I rose from the bed.  Today was the start of my new life.   I rose from my bed and threw on the first pair of clothes I came across.  As I passed through the living room on my way to the bathroom, I peeked at Pete lying on the couch.  He was curled up under a blanket, one arm behind his head and the other hanging over the edge of the couch.  He looked so adorable, with his messy hair and drooling mouth.  

_I'll have to remind him to wipe that pillow off when he wakes up. _ I smirked at the thought, and traversed the maroon carpet to turn off the TV.  He must have been watching it before he went to bed, and hadn't turned it off.  As I neared the set, my eyes focused on a picture above and to the right of the anchorwoman's head.  The caption below it read "Good bug, bad bug?"  while the picture itself showed a blurred witnesses' photo of the bank heist.  Sure enough, there was Spider-Man holding a bag bulging with something, most likely the money stolen.  I reached across the screen to adjust the volume.

         "…days ago, here in New York City.  Police investigating the crime scene have stated in disbelief that it was, in fact, the work of Spider-Man.  Any one with any information of the ex-superhero's whereabouts is to call the number at the bottom of the screen immediately.  We recommend that you keep children under watchful eye and…"  The voice droned on about warnings and cautions as I slowly looked over my shoulder at the sleeping body behind me.  

         _What if he _did_ do it?_

"He didn't."

         _But, how can you prove it?_

"I…I don't need to," I whispered to myself.  "I just know!"  I knew in my heart that Peter didn't, and could never, do something like this.  I turned back to the TV, hoping it would clear things up.  The middle aged woman was now talking about some kind of new restaurant opening in Times Square, so I reached to change the dial to a different channel.  Before I got there, the screen flashed to a man in a trench coat outside Central Park, in front of a tall office building.  He spoke into a microphone with a Channel 6 News logo on it and kept looking over his shoulder nervously.  I stayed on the channel for a moment out of curiosity.  

         "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a Channel 6 Special Report.  Witnesses have just admitted to seeing Spider-Man break and enter the window of the administrative center behind me."  The camera angle moved up the side of the building and showed an open window towards the top.  "We have reason to believe that workers inside are being held hostage and may be in danger.  Those of you with – oh, oh my God…"  Now, the camera was shaking, distorting the clarity and complicating things.  I couldn't follow what was going on.  "I can't believe…that…oh my, watch out!  Every one get back!"  I heard loud noises and screaming coming from the set, but the actual view was impossible to see. __

"Peter!  Wake up!"  Seeing that he wasn't budging, I grabbed a book from the coffee table and threw it at him.  "Wake up!"

         "Ugh…"  He yawned and rolled over mumbling something about "doing it tomorrow" and "always spoiling things".  I was too confused to think about what he was saying.

         "Peter, you have to see this."  I turned back to the TV.  The camera was still again, and on the ground in front of the building were furniture and office supplies that had been thrown from the window above.  They had been smashed to pieces in the fall.

         "Ladies and gentleman at home – it appears that Spider-Man has entered the office building and is now throwing…stuff…out of the window.  This is a live report from Channel 6, and you're anchorman is speechless.  Please remain calm, the police are on their way.  Hey! Hey, you, get back!"  He reached out to a group of onlookers as more debris came crashing from the window.  The camera man ran forward in an attempt to dodge it.  He must not have made it to safety, or something must have smashed the camera because the screen went fuzzy.  I turned back to Peter, now awake and sitting on the edge of the couch staring at the blank screen with his mouth open.

         "What the hell was that?"

         "That was our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, Pete.  Now what do we do?"  

         Our eyes met, and I could almost see his brain working behind his bushy hair and tired eyes.

         "You better go down there.  Go find out what just happened."  He looked down at the floor, as if he were debating whether or not to go.  When he looked up, a familiar spark was in his eyes, one that had been missing before.  

         "Yeah.  Ok.  I'll be back, M.J."  He rose from the couch, and I noticed one tiny little detail.

         He was wearing only boxers.

         "Peter, your suit…It's ruined.  What are you going to wear?"

         "I have more.  At my apartment.  I'll stop on my way…can I just borrow a shirt to get there?"

         "Yeah…here."  I handed him his own small pile of clothes.  "I brought these from your apartment."

         "Thanks."  He changed quickly and I followed him to the window at the back of the apartment.  Before exiting, he looked down at his clothes and turned to me.  He had a puzzled look on his face.  "How long have you known?"

         "We'll talk about it later.  Go!"  I lifted the window open and motioned him out.  He left, but not before giving me a small peck on the cheek.  

         Minutes later, I sat on the floor in front of the blank TV, hand to my cheek.  I had nothing to do now but wait.

         Wait and worry.

Ok, there's chapter 6! I hope I am doing a good job.  I think this story is going to be turning into a kind of mystery type thing, what with the imposter and all…just review and let me know what you think! 

Dear Reader,

         I command you to press me!

                  Love, the review button

Please forgive me…I'm sick and on medication…plus I'm just weird to begin with.  YOU BETTER DO WHAT THE BUTTON SAYS! He gets violent sometimes, trust me.


	7. Phone Calls

Ok…three reviews…not bad.  Well, one of them wasn't a review – more like a threat (but a motivational threat, nonetheless…hehe).  For anyone still following, here's chapter 7.  Sorry – there's more character/conscious conversations.  They're just so fun to write!

This chapter is confusing.  Lots of stuff happens…I'll explain it all.  Eventually.

No, I don't own Spider-Man.  I admit it.  

*************Spider-Man/Peter's POV**************

I left, feeling as though I was still asleep.  I could still taste M.J.'s skin on my lips.  _I can do this "girlfriend" thing._

Somehow, I made it to my apartment and changed into a fresh spandex suit.  I winced a little as it enveloped my body – my chest still hurt every now and then.  Understandable, I guess.  As I left I noticed a few threads of webbing hanging from the ceiling of my room… _When did _that_ happen?  _I strode to the window and propped myself upon the ledge.  Looking down into the alley, I saw a patch of russet staining the area around the dumpster.  I vaguely remembered lying down there, in unimaginable pain, seeing M.J… I must have managed to shoot some webs to get her attention.

_Was that why she came?  Because she'd seen the webs?  Pete…man…what if…what if she hadn't come?_

"Then…then I don't…"  If M.J. hadn't been in my room…hey, what…  "…why was she in my room?!  She wasn't s – wait, I can ask her later.  I need to go kick my ass."  I leaped onto the window sill and swung out over the alley and adjoining apartment buildings.  It wasn't until I was three or four blocks away that I realized I didn't know where I was going.  _The TV…it didn't say where he was.  Just that building…"administrative center"…what the hell is an administrative center!?  _I stopped where I was. _ No point in swinging if I don't even know where I'm going…it'd just be wasted energy._

I sat down on the rooftops, my back to some kind of vent.  With my head in my hands, I prayed my brain would remember something, anything, from the newscast that would point me in the right direction.  _C'mon, brain…don't fail me now…Think!_

"AARGHHH!!!"  I let out a frustrating scream.  It was no use, all I could remember was the broken furniture and the camera going dead.  "Great.  Just great."  I threw my hands into the air, desperate for help.  "JEEZ!  Why does this sh…always happening and…every time…I just…Sigh…This could be my only chance to prove my innocence, and I'm lost."

I'm lost.

"Well, I…I guess I'll go back to M.J.'s?" 

_Pete, why was that a question?_

"I've been defeated without any fight at all."

_That doesn't answer the question._

"I can't just give up!  There's got to be some way…I need…find…I…a pillow.  Yes, a pillow.  I need a pillow to scream in so that…"  My voice became gradually louder with frustration, until I was screaming at nothing.  "…so thAT I DON'T KILL SOMETHING!!!  AAAUUUGGHHH!!!"  

_Peter…you're pathetic._

"Wha…"  I lifted my head out of my hands.  "Oh, c'mon, I'd never _really_ kill something!  I think that--"

_That's your problem.  You think too much.  _

"Well, jeez, what am I _supposed_ to do?!"  

_Dude…you've got these things called ears.  Just listen._

I quieted myself, surprised by the city's sudden insipidness.  I heard traffic from below, music blaring from a window nearby, sirens, and people yelling for cabs and at each other, but still nothing helped.  "And the point of this is…?  Ok, yeah, so I'm calm now.  But I still don't know where to go."

_If _I_ had control over our eyes, _I'd _be rolling them.  Think, Peter.  You –_

"You just told me not to!"

_You think about the wrong things._

"You know, you're really not helping."

_Remember on the news?  The guy said police were on the way.  Police drive police cars.  Police cars have sirens.  Assuming that the police are headed towards the place we want to be, we can –_

" – follow the sirens!  Haha!"  Yes!  I felt like laughing.  I jumped up from the bird-crap and tar covered roof and listened for the sirens again.

_Ha.  _Now _who's spoiling things, huh?_

"Oh, shut up."  The numerous wails of sirens in the distance rang in my ears, and suddenly I was flying through the tunnel of skyscrapers and billboards.As I neared the site, I felt my spider-sense begin to kick in.  I tried to stay out of view while surveying the area.  Pieces of smashed furniture lay on the ground, as on the TV, but other than that there were only police cars and officers holding the bystanders back.  No Spider-Man.

"Well, no _fake_ Spider-Man."  I leaped onto the top of the building and glanced over the edge.  Two of the armed officers were guarding the main entrance, while the others had their weapons trained on various windows.  

Their _loaded _and _cocked_ weapons.  "Wow.  They might shoot him."

_Shit._

If they were willing to shoot who they _thought_ was me, they'd be willing to shoot the _real _me, too.  I quickly slinked away from the edge, never straying to far from the shadows.  If my reasoning was correct, which I'm positive it was, I didn't want to be seen.  At all.  By anyone.

Me being seen could very easily mean death.  

"_Now_ what?  If I go in, they see me.  If I stay out, they see me.  If they see me, they shoot me.  If they shoot me, I die, and I'll never get to see that Brady Bunch marathon on TV next week.  And damn, wouldn't that be a tragedy?  I've been waiting three weeks to watch it."  I looked around for an entrance or door, anything to let me into the building.  Finding none, I instead crept my way across the roof, to the other side.  To the back of the building.  No cops or people back there, just a parking lot with a few empty cars and a dumpster.

And open windows lining the entire back wall of the structure.

_C'mon, Pete…think about this before you do anything.  You know what happens when you just do things.  You always, in some way or another, end up screwing yourself over.  _

"Talk about an unhealthy addiction."  I was practically drawn to the windows.  I knew full well that thinking it over would do nothing – I was going in regardless.  These moments were the ones I depended on.  Life or death decisions that I made in seconds kept me going, kept my life exciting, stimulated me.  I mean, let's face it…my life as Peter Parker is pretty boring.  Why shouldn't Spider-Man get to have some thrills?

A web made it's way over the edge, clinging to the bottom of a windowsill.  I jumped off, carefully moving my limbs so as to land just below the ledge, and pulled myself up and through the window.  I was in some kind of office, with copious desks and chairs, a coffee pot, and a few potted plants scattered here and there.  I saw no one.  

_         Lucky.  _

         "Why is it -- "

         _SHHH!_

I rolled my eyes at myself and tiptoed silently to the door.  No one was on this floor.  I could feel it.  Peeking out over the rows of endless cubicles, I saw the doors to both an elevator and a stairway.

         I chose the stairs.  No more elevators for me, thank you.

         _Poor guy._

My spider-sense went off again and I automatically hugged the wall.  I caught the sounds of something pounding a few floors up and people screaming…

The adrenaline began to pump, and I slipped through the doorway and crept discreetly up the stairs.  My heart beat like never before, and I could feel the sweat gathering under my suit.

         _I'm hungry._

I was walking towards feasible demise – if not for me, than for somebody else – and all I could think is how hungry I am.  I get all the symptoms of fear, but no mental fear.  No dreading, no panicking, no worrying about what will happen.  Hell, I'd feel the same if I were walking to the dinner table to eat.

         There is something seriously wrong with me.

         At the top of the stairs, I approached two double swing doors with small windows near the top.  Without even thinking, I lowered my middle and ring fingers and angled my wrist to cast out a thin film of webbing, and within seconds I was hanging from the ceiling, surveying the inside of the next floor through the door windows.  What I saw did _not_ make me happy.  In fact, I couldn't believe it.  I wouldn't allow myself to.  The possibility of what I was witnessing actually _happening _was implausible.  It scared me too much.

         It scared me.

         "…No…!"  I could barely breathe, let alone talk; a lump forced itself into my throat, inhibiting my vocal cords.  My body started shaking and I realized I needed to act.  I needed to do something.  

         TSEEW!  A laser-like noise.  Suddenly, before I could do anything, the room burst into flames…

         Oh my god…No…No… "NOOOOOO!"

         I saw the three people in the room fly across the floor and shot a web through the doorway.  I needed to get in there…I needed to save her…but it was no use.  The flames grew, and I lost the ability to breathe.  I could see nothing from the smoke clouding my vision, but could sense the other bodies in the room.

         "Wh – cough, cough – where are you!?"  Nothing.  "Answer me!  I – cough – need you to…"

         _Peter, get out of here!  You're going to…you're going…_

Slowly, for what seemed like the eight millionth time this week, I began to lose consciousness.

         _…going to not make it out, going to choke…no, choke not good…get out…find…door, find exit…_

_         Find her…_

**********Imposter's POV***********(AN: this part takes place while Peter is approaching/entering the building)

         Spider-Man.

         Such an original name.  How did he do it?  I mean, how could one be so smart as to name himself "Spider-Man"?  

         Ingenious. 

         I shook my head with a smirk, amused by my own sarcasm, and turned back to my task at hand.  Robbing was easy.  And fun.  

         And to think, all this time, nobody had every framed the guy before.  

         People are idiots.  It was so easy, so simple…as long as I didn't slip.  Which wouldn't be hard.  

         I turned to the woman I held prisoner in the otherwise deserted building.  I laughed inside as she cowered and shook in the corner.  

         "Please…please just d-don't hurt me!"  

         "Now, what makes you think I'm going to hurt you, lady?  I just want some answers."

         _And I want them answers now.  If I don't soon find out who he really is, then I'll never find him.  He'll find me, and then everyone will know…_

         I was pulled from my thoughts as a woman from the office entered the room, seeing me and my victim.  She let out a scream, her eyes huge with fear, and started to run away.  I didn't want her to run away.  I wanted her to play with me.

         "Hey, hey, now…come back, I won't hurt you."   I leaped over to the door and grabbed the woman from behind.  She began to scream and kick as I pulled her through the doorway.

         "Get away from me, you beast!"

         "Beast?  Me?  Spider-Man?"  I tried my best to look innocent, then gave up and let out an evil laugh.  "Sit down, lady.  Don't try anything tricky, you hear me!?"

         "I heard the news!  You've turned bad!"  The woman, who I now noticed was older than the first, was not being cooperative.  She stood back up, and again ran towards the door.  "Help!  Someone help!"

         "WHAT did I say, lady!?  Sit the hell down!"  It took a minute, but I finally triggered my "web shooters" and pulled her for a second time into the room.  I attached her to the wall with the goopy stuff and watched as she tried to wriggle her way out of it.

         "You…you…UGH!  You horrible creature!"

         This woman was quite bothersome.  I stood above her, threatening her with an office chair held high above my head.  She trembled in my shadow.  

         Suddenly, I noticed the window, and the numerous cops lined up a few floors down.  I noticed that they were looking up.  That they saw me.  That they had weapons aimed at me.  My eyes followed the red laser scopes to the red dots upon my chest…

         TSEEW! 

         Then, I became aware of screaming women, fire, pain, and finally, nothing at all.  

*********M.J.'s POV**********

         Sigh.

         I sat at home, eating breakfast.  I had tried to pick up the events on the news, but since the Channel 6 camera had been crushed, no one else had tried to catch the action.  In any case, I'd left the TV on just incase.

         The dippy eggs and toast just weren't hitting the spot.  I couldn't concentrate on anything other than Peter and his safety.  It wasn't that I doubted him or his abilities.  

         I doubted everyone else.

         Everyone thought he was a criminal…how could he possibly make out alright?  

         _Because he will.  Stop worrying, M.J.._

I rose from the table and pulled out my U.S. History homework.  I had a huge debate to prepare for, and knew nothing about Hamilton and Jefferson.  I needed to study.  I'd be killing two birds with one stone – getting it done, and keeping my mind off Peter.  Hopefully. 

         *************(Time passes)*************

         I closed the hardcover book and rested my elbows upon it.  I would do ok on the debate.  I'd read the chapter several times, taken notes, even checked online for references…I could do this.   I pulled my Calculus book out of my knapsack on the ground next to me and started on next week's assignments.  Nothing like working ahead, right?

         _Jeez…this is hard.  Where's Peter when you need him?_

I began to worry again.  I gave up on the colorful graphs and numbers and laid my head down on the book.  I started to think about him.  Everything about him.  He's…perfect. Well, no.  But perfect enough for me.  Definitely.

         _Damn him, why's he have to be Spider-Man!?_

Before I could catch myself, I fell asleep at the table, resting my head on the books and binders.  The phone ringing woke me up about half an hour later, though.  After realizing what the noise was, I stood up and walked sluggishly to the phone in the living room.

         "Hello?"

         "…"  I heard no voice, only breathing on the other line, and became curious…

         "Hello!  I know you're there…who is this?"

         "…M.J…I…"  I knew that voice. 

         "Pete?  Peter, where are you?  Are you ok?!  Why are you whispering?!"

         "Shhh…M.J., listen…I'm ok.  I think…but…"

         "Peter, stop.  Tell me what's wrong.  I know something's wrong, just tell me!"

         "M.J.  I love you so much."

         "Tell me!"  I was becoming frustrated.  I could tell from his voice something was wrong.  He was upset.

         He took a deep breath before continuing, which was good – otherwise, he'd have run out halfway through the sentence.  "He was there and I went there and she was there but the thing exploded and I went in the fire and now they got me I was unconscious and they caught me and I get one phone call but don't come here you can't let them know I know you."

         "Whoa, whoa, Peter, slow down, breathe…who?  Where are you?"

         "The imposter.  He was there.  They shot him, he's dead.  But he had her, he had her!  When they shot him, the room…it…it exploded, I had to go find her, she was in there…but I couldn't breathe, the police came, they found me and took me.  I don't know where she is, they won't tell me.  They said I get one phone call.  I shouldn't have called you, M.J…I'm so sorry…whatever you do, you can't come down here.  You can't.  Then they'll know."

         I was speechless.

         He became quieter than I'd ever heard him.  "M.J., what do I do?"

"Peter…I…I don't understand.  You're not making sense!  They shot him?  The imposter?  Is that what you mean?"

"Yea…yes.  The imposter.  He's dead.  I--"  I heard gasping noises and coughs coming from the line.  "--I think."

"Peter…I'm coming to get you.  Tell me where you--"

"NO!"

"Who is there with you?"  If somebody knew he called me…if someone took his mask off…oh, my god…

"I…no one.  I…oh man…I feel sick…I think…I think they drugged me…needles…I don't…don't feel to well…no one's here, I'm alone…metal room, bars, tied up…gave me phone, left…I-I…ow…!"

_What is going on?!_  "Peter!"

"Wha…"

"Does anyone know?!"

"I…don't know…I don't think…M.J., I can't…can't…jeez, what the hell…OW! What the hell…did they…did they put in me…oh…wait!…"  His voice gradually faded, as though he became farther from the phone.  "No! Wait!  I'm…I'm not done!  Give…give it…" 

"Excuse me, ma'am?"  A deep, gruff voice came on the line, with Peter still talking in the background.

"What did you do to him?!"  I was so confused…so, terribly confused.

"Who are you, ma'am?  What do you know about him?"

"I – I won't answer that!  You – you can't find out who he is, please, I'm begging you…he's innocent.  He was framed!  He --"

"Ma'am, please.  Calm down, now.  We have no intention of revealing his identity to anyone, but if he wants to get out, his bail needs to be paid.  We have the guy who framed him down here…as well as two women injured in the blast.  Now if you--"

"Who?  Who were the women?!"  _Pete had kept talking about a 'she'…_

"We're not sure yet.  They're under a doctors care right now, being treated for their injuries.  Ma'am if you could please come down, we would appreciate it.  It would be totally confidential."

"I…P-Spider-Man.  Is he ok?"  _M.J., watch what you say, girl!_

"He's fine.  He wouldn't cooperate, so we had to sedate him.  He's perfectly fine, I assure you."

I let the question churn in my mind.  If I went down, I could get Peter out.  But then…then people would know I know Spider-Man…

_But I have to get Peter out._

"Ok.  I'll be down."

"Thank you, ma'am.  We'll be waiting for you."

"Can…can I just talk to him again before we hang up?  Please?  It's important."

"I'm really not supposed to, but…yeah.  Keep it quick, ok?"

"Thank you so much!"  I heard a few shuffling noises, then Peter's heavy breath registered on the line.  When he finally talked, he was whispering.

"No, M.J….no.  You…no."

"Shhh…You can't keep saying my name.  Is that guy still there?"

A moment of silence… "Sort of…"

"Listen, Pe--  listen, if you're going to be sick, take your mask off.  I don't care if any one sees.  You can't die.  Ok?!"  If Peter got sick in his mask…well…the image entering my mind did not make me feel any better.  

"Tied up…can't reach."

Tears began to form in my eyes.  I had to get off the line and down there as fast as I could… "Peter, I'm coming down.  Don't worry, I won't let anyone know who I am.  I'll wear a disguise, somehow.  I'll be down.  I…I love you."

"Did…did you eat breakfast?  Eat…you need…eat something…and wear…wear a jacket…it's…it's sort of chilly out…"  I smiled inwardly as the tears rolled down my cheeks.  Always protecting me…always.

"I'm coming."

"…ok." 

CLICK.

I pulled a tissue off of the coffee table, wiped my eyes, and headed to my room to change.

Wow, this plot just keeps changing, doesn't it?  I have no idea where I am going with this…

Review!


	8. Imprisonment

I'm back, did you miss me?  This chapter is sort of long, sorry for anyone who doesn't like long ones.   It's also my favorite chapter so far, along with chapter 3.  It's kind of nasty at one point, not really, but if you have a VERY weak stomach…haha, be prepared.  Enjoy!  And don't forget to review.

I don't own Spider-Man.

**********Peter/Spider-Man's POV (Semi-consciousness)************

_         Oh, man.  No idea, no clue…what is going on…_

_         Phone call…_

"Jeez…I called her, why….why did I…I'm so stupid!  I…"

"Hey, keep it down in there, bug!"  I heard a sudden 'clink' noise as something was thrown at the confinement.  Looking around, distracted from my thoughts, I tried to figure out where I was but found it impossible.  

_I left M.J.'s…left my house…went to the building, fire…police with guns…now…?  They chained me up here…who's they?  What the…_

I was chained to the wall, sitting on the floor.  Stainless steal cuffs covered my legs, wrists, arms, waist…pinning me to the cold, damp bricks behind me.  I tried out my webs; no use.  The steel was too tight…

_Oh, my god…my stomach…_

"I…hey, someone…I'm…help.  I'm going to…"  _Going to be sick…_  I called quietly into the dark, hoping someone would hear me.

"Didn't you hear me?!  I said keep it down!"  I couldn't see him through the dimness of the small room, but I recognized the voice from before.  From the phone call.

_Something is not right…worry about that later.  I need to get my mask off…_

I rubbed my chin up down against the braces on my wrists, trying to at least partially remove it.  Trying to free my mouth.  After a few minutes, I finally managed to make a wrinkle, and created a slit at my neck…_come off, damn you…if I can get it off, then…_

_No, not if.  I have to.  I can't get sick in there.  I'll…ew, I'll drown myself in my own…oh, man, that is _foul_!   Ew._

_If only I could wiggle my nose._

"Yeah, because that…that would help so much…"  Why was I having so much trouble talking, moving…thinking clearly?  

Remembering?

_No, no, not yet…I'm not done yet… _I pleaded with my stomach to hold whatever was coming up down.  _Please, please…no…oh shit…I…  _You'd think, that I, of all people, would be able to control my own bodily functions.  

But no.  The fluid rose up my throat.  I could feel it making it's way toward my mouth.  Toward the surface, towards air.  Towards the mask that was only partially lifted from my neck.

_It's ok.  It'll drip out._

"No…it…no."

I tried my hardest, as disgusting as it was, to keep my mouth closed.  To swallow it.  I couldn't, and suddenly I was snorting my own puke up my nose.  Yeah, I know.  Gross.

Not to mention the fact that it was choking me.

My lungs began to scream…I couldn't breathe at all.  I began to gasp, my body taking over, making harsh grunting noises.  Spasms began, and I started to shake.

"ACH…chhhhhhhhhhhh…….cough…!"  I was somewhat aware of a man's presence before me.  "I….ple – cough – please!"  I tried to reach out to him, but only my fingers would move.  My vision, blurred from the puking episode, started to dim, but I could sense the large man entering my area.  

"Here, let me help you, Spider-Man."  

"Please…thank – cough – thank you!"  I watched from far away, it seemed, as he unlatched my arms from the wall.  Being too weak to support myself, I fell over into a heap on the cement.  Instantly, my hands flew to my face, lifting the mask to my nose, allowing my lungs to breathe again.  I gasped for breath, seeing colors and objects in my mind.  The shaking slowly subsided, and I glanced up at the man.

"So, Parker, how are you feeling?"  A grin of pearly white slashed through the darkness and an evil laugh split the silence. 

 _He knows who I am.  _I was so confused by his question, so weak and in pain, that I wasn't ready for what he did next.  

Leaning down, he threw me back against the wall and re-clasped the braces. 

"I – grunt – I'm sure I'd  be better if you – you'd tell me what's going on."

He just smiled.

"Wh-what do you want with me?  Just…just tell me."

"What, and forget about the suspense?  Nah, I'll wait.  Besides, I want your little girlfriend to hear, too…heh, heh, heh!  We'll just wait till she arrives."

My heart stopped.  "WHAT!?  I…no…you can't…how!?  Please, just leave her alone.  She's…not…not involved in this!"

"Oh, but she is.  In fact, she's already on her way here.  Well, she's on her way somewhere.  But we'll make sure she ends up here.  You can trust me on that."__

_No, no, no…not M.J…_  I needed to warn her, I needed to stop them… _Who is this guy?!  _I used what strength I had left to try to get out of the brackets, but I obviously didn't have very much left at all.  Giving up, I leaned my head back against the bricks and took a deep breath.

_I've failed.  Again.  I'm done.  This is it.  I can't get out.  Why did I ever think that I …that I could…oh my god.  M.J.  She's going to be caught…all because of me. All my fault.  If only… What will she think of me?  And what will Aunt May think –_

_AUNT MAY!_

I raised my head and opened my eyes.  I looked to the man who was now standing against the wall.  "Where are they!?"

"Bug, what are you talking about?"  He seemed annoyed.

"The woman.  The two women from the accident.  What have you done to them!?"

"Oh.  Them.  We had no use for them.  We got rid of them."

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

"I said, we got rid of them.  What, are you deaf?"  He walked over to me, pulling something from his jacket.  "I can see that our earlier injections have worn off…damn spider powers, I guess this time I'll just give you more."  I tried to see what it was he had, I figured it was the needle again…but I couldn't see clearly enough.   I glared at the man, though he couldn't see my eyes. 

_Not that it would matter, since he already somehow knows who I am…_

He unlatched my arm to get to my shoulders.  Not a smart move on his part…

SMACK!  Before he could inject me with the needle, because that's what it was, I smacked him across the face.  He stood still for a moment, almost shocked.  I punched him with all my power, twice.  Once in the nose, once near his temple.

"You mother…"  Throwing the needle-gun-thing down, he lunged at me.  It was impossible to push him away; he was a large man, quite muscular, and I had only one free arm.  He put all his weight on top of my body, pinning my arm against my body.

"AUUUGHH, GET…get OFF!"  I threw my weight as best I could to try to make him fall off of me…it didn't work.  He reached over my shoulders, grabbing my head in his hands.  I thought he was going to take my mask off, but instead he threw my head against the wall behind me.  Several times.  I blacked out for a few moments, unaware of all pain and noise, until I suddenly felt a sharp stab in my right leg.  I came to, hurting, and saw him lying on the ground a few feet away, bleeding from a deep wound above his left eyebrow.  I looked to my leg for the source of pain, despite the fact that I knew what had happened.

There was the needle, in my calf, draining into my bloodstream and muscles.

_That _really_ can't be good._

"Ow…"  I reached out to the needle with my free hand, but couldn't make contact with it.  I couldn't bend my waist at all, or move my feet or legs.  I couldn't get it out.  I watched as the crystal clear liquid seeped into my skin, through the suit.  My muscles began to slacken; concentration faded slightly.  My whole body began to itch uncontrollably, starting at my leg and rising towards my head.  The itch turned into numbness, and after a few minutes I couldn't feel anything.  I couldn't move anything.  I couldn't focus my eyes, had no long distance vision.  What I did see was blurry and colorless.

But I was still conscious.

Conscious, but paralyzed.  Completely, totally paralyzed, covered in barf, blood, and a burned, tattered suit of spandex. 

I'm sure I looked lovely.

*********M.J.'s POV***********

I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed a hat, sunglasses and scarf, threw my coat on, and ran outside.  Peter was right; it _was_ chilly out.  I grabbed the first taxicab I saw and directed him to the police station.  The driver, an older man with white hair, wanted to know which station I wanted to go to.

         "Uh, there's more than one?" 

         He laughed kindheartedly, smiling at me in the rearview mirror.  "Well, sure hon.  New York is a big city."

         "Um, just take me to the closest one I guess…"  The police officers would know which location Peter was in.  

         "You got it."  

         The drive, which only lasted a few minutes, was excruciating.  I couldn't keep my mind from Peter and what they were doing to him.  First of all, the cop on the phone had sounded…fishy.  And Peter sounded like he was drugged with more than sedatives.  He had to have been, the way he was acting.  

         "Well, here you go.  That's seven eighty-two."  The old man had pulled up in front of a station.

         I dug through my pockets, pulling out a ten dollar bill.  I threw it at him through the partitioning window and opened the car door.  

         "Don't you want…"

         I was already running up the gigantic cement steps to the station.  "Keep it!"  I heard a "thanks hon!" as he drove off into the rout of other cabs.

         Before entering the station, I pulled out the pair of sunglasses and hat.  I pulled my hair up and tucked it all into the hat, hiding the red.  I zipped up my jacket and threw on the scarf.  I proceeded towards the large swinging doors, trying to enter without tripping myself.  I always _was_ uncoordinated when it came to swinging doors.  Stupid doors.  

         My eyes adjusted to the dim lights inside, and I looked around at all the people sitting on benches and stools, people sitting at desks talking to cops and detectives.  It smelled of…something.  I couldn't pinpoint the exact odor, but it was something nasty that shouldn't be voluntarily smelled.  I walked casually up to a large desk of to the left of the room where a uniformed officer sat reading the newspaper.  He raised his eyebrows as I approached, setting his newspaper down.  He was bald, fat, and eating a jelly donut that left stains on his uniform. 

         "May I help you," he looked over my clothes, my awkward appearance, before continuing, "…ma'am?"

         "Yeah…I…I'm here to pay somebody's bail?"  I glanced into my bag, hoping I had enough money for it.

         "I'm sorry…visiting and paying hours are closed.  You're going to have to come back later."  He resumed reading his newspaper.

         "But…but I got a phone call."  The paper crinkled, and I could see his eyes looking me over once again.  

         "Ma'am…you'll have to come back later."

         "You don't understand.  I'm here for somebody special."

         He rolled his eyes and looked at me like I was an idiot.  I'll be the first to admit, I probably did look like one.  "Special, huh?  How special?"

         "I…I'm here for…" I glanced around quickly, making sure no one was near, and lowered my voice a little.  "Spider-Man."

         "Spider-Man is dead, lady.  Don't you watch the news?"

         "No, no…he's not."

         "Look, I don't know if this is some kind of 'funny' joke, but there's no Spider-Man here.  I'm trying to get my work done, so if you could please step back into reality…"  

         I shook my head and backed away, glaring at him.  I turned around, ready to head out the doors.  Shook my head in disgust and mumbled "asshole" as I walked away.

         "Hey, I heard that!"  When I looked back at him,  I noticed he had gone back to his donut and 'work'.  Unfortunately, as I was looking at him I was also walking forward, and bumped into someone.

         "Oh!  I'm sorry!"  

         "No, no, miss, it's quite alright."  I smiled up at a tall man in a dark business suit.  

         "I wasn't watching where I was going."

         "It's quite alright, I assure you."  He turned to the doors, motioning for me to go out first.  

         "Thank you."  I stood at the top of the stairway, unsure of what to do next.  I noticed the man was still there beside me, and I slowly walked away.  

         He followed me. 

         I walked down the stairs, and headed down the street a ways.  

         Still there.  

_         What the…_

"Miss?"  All of a sudden, he was walking beside me.

         "Um…yeah?"

         "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation.  I heard you say you were looking for someone."

         _Think fast, M.J.  _"Um, yeah…"  _Way to go, idiot.  I said THINK._

"I know where he is.  I can take you to him."

         I stopped dead in my tracks.  "What do you know about who I am looking for?!"

         "More than you do."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, miss.  Just trying to warn you…"

         _Warn me?  _"About what?"

         "Come with me."  He veered off to the left and waited at a crosswalk.  I followed him.  What else could I do?  We walked for about ten minutes before coming to an abandoned building in an industrial part of the city, right outside of Central Park.  This guy was creepy…he was such a gentleman, but so mysterious. 

_         Like Peter._

I caught up to the man, whose name I had found out was "Mr. Black".  I assumed it was a fake name. 

         "Mr. Black, uh…where are we going, and who are you?  How do you know about…him?"  He stopped walking and turned to face me.  

         He stopped walking and turned to face me.  I could see him tense up as he let out a sigh, and my eyebrows rose.  "M.J…I'm not going to lie.  Peter is in trouble.  He…well, I work for someone.  But I've realized that I don't want to anymore.  That's why I found you.  I'm leading you into disaster, I can feel it.  He…my boss…he sent me for you, to bring you here.  Peter is here.  I'm not sure how he is, I know that they drugged him.  I left after that.  But I want to warn you, I don't know what they're going to do to you…or Peter."

         "How…why-what are you talking about…how…Peter?"  _He knows too much._

         "He knows.  He knows who he is.  He knows who you are.  I don't know how, I was stupid to get involved."

         "Who?"

         "My boss."

         "Who's your boss?"

         "I…I honestly don't know.  I was stupid.  He pays good, but the work is dirty…I don't know what he's planning on doing, but he absolutely hates your friend.  He claims that he did something to him once, foiled some plan of his or something."

         _Yeah, that sounds like Peter.  _"And now he's in trouble?"

         "I think, yeah.  I'm pretty sure.  But, just go along with me.  Don't let boss-man know you know."

         _I KNEW he was in trouble.  I knew it.  _"Who…who called me?"

         "That was Strand.  He's…he's guarding Peter right now.  Boss-man is on his way here, or even may be here already.  He wants to…"

         "…what?"  _He wants to what!?_

         "M.J., he wants to kill Peter.  Kill Spider-Man.  He can, and I don't doubt that he will.  Now listen – he sent me to find you.  He told me to bring you here, to use Peter as bait.  I did.  I don't know what he'll do, but…I'll get you out, ok?  Let's go."  He started to walk down the rotting wooden staircase to the basement of the dump.

         "Wait.  You want me to…to go down there, and be caught?  Maybe killed?  How can I trust you?"  _This is a trap_.  

         "It's up to you.  But you have to.  If Peter is hurt, he may need you more than you think."

         "How…how do you know so much stuff about us?"

         His eyes lowered, as if he were ashamed.  "We know far too much than you'd care to realize."

_         I'll take his word on that.  _"Ok.  I'll do it."

         "Good.  Let's go."

         I stepped in time with him down the stairs, into a gloomy room with low ceilings and no windows.  It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but once they did I wished they hadn't.  

         In the far corner of the room was a large metal cage-like structure, with a swinging door attached.  I walked slowly up to the door, not believing my eyes.  _Peter…_

         I let out a small scream, a gasp for air…

         He looked dead.

         "Oh my god!  Peter!  Peter, wake up!"  I ran up to him, pulling his mask away from his face.  I jumped when I noticed that his eyes were open, glazed over, looking into mine.  He was breathing slowly…he was still alive.

         He was alive.

         My body sagged in a sigh of relief.  I pulled off my scarf and used it to wipe Peter's face off.  He'd gotten sick all over himself, then, I used the clean end to wipe my own tear-streaked cheeks.  I noticed that he was attached to the wall with silver metal things, his hands above his head.  His ankles were attached to the floor, and his waist to the bottom of the wall, near the floor.  I tried talking to him, but he wouldn't answer me.  No, not he wouldn't.  He couldn't.  He didn't, couldn't move at all except to look at me.

         _Oh, man, Peter…what did they do to you?_

I asked him questions, begged for answers…finally I got an idea.  I could use pencil and paper, ask yes or no questions…he could use his eyes.  I got up to get the paper, leaving Peter by himself for a few moments.

**********Peter/Spider-Man's POV(Paralysis)********* 

         I sat in silence for what seemed like days.  Finally, after I started to get bored – yeah, bored – I watched as the guy got up and left.  He pulled the needle from my leg and placed my arm back into the clasp; I didn't feel a thing.  I wanted so badly to reach out and hit him, to spit in his face, to do something to him as he bent over and waved his hand in front of my eyes.  But I couldn't.  I still couldn't move, talk, or see clearly...  It was rather annoying.  Luckily, though, I also couldn't feel pain.  

         I don't know if I would have been able to bear it.

         I _could_ feel fatigue.  I would have slept, but…well, would YOU be able to sleep, knowing that you were paralyzed, in some kind of danger, and the one person you loved most was bound to be in danger as well?

         Point made.

         A while after the guy left, I could see blobs moving in the distance.  One of the blobs suddenly ran into my cage, and I could sense that it was M.J.  There was a guy with her, but my spider-sense didn't go off once.

_Well, maybe that's paralyzed, too._

I wanted to reach out to M.J.  I wanted to ask her what happened, who the guy was, where I was…how she was.  Tell her that I loved her, and get her out.  Take her home where she'd be safe.  

Not being able to do this made me want to cry, but I couldn't even do that.   

She ran up to me, and that's when I realized I couldn't hear, either.  

_So that's why it's so quiet._

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.  She wiped my face off, but I wasn't able to feel her touch.  When she leaned down to give me a kiss, I couldn't return the caress.   

_If there is a hell, it can't be much worse than this._

She was asking me questions, I could tell from her facial expressions.  I couldn't answer her, and it killed me.  I just looked into her eyes and yearned for the drugs to wear off soon.  She turned to the man standing behind her; he had a worried look on his face.  I could see her talking to him.

_Please…I just want to know…what you're saying.  M.J…this is horrible._

Suddenly, she turned back to me and held up her index finger in a "one minute" signal.  She and the man left my field of vision and returned to being black and white blobs moving around in the shadows.  I closed my eyes and waited for her to return, but after she'd been gone only a few seconds, I felt a slight prickling in my head…

My spider-sense.

_So it's not paralyzed. _

I opened my eyes and searched for the source of alarm, but only saw M.J. in front of me with the tall guy.  I shuttered my eyelids a few times in an attempt to warn them of danger, but they just looked confused.  They glanced at each other, than back at me.  Then, she held up a piece of paper with writing on it: "One blink = yes, two blinks = no.  Are you ok?"

I blinked my eyes twice, then paused and blinked once.  They just looked at me, puzzled.  Turning back to the paper, she wrote "Can you see this?"

One blink.

"Can you hear?"

Two blinks.

"Are you hurting?"

Two blinks.  I probably _should _be, but technically, I wasn't.

"Do you know what happened, what they did to you?"

Two blinks.  

The questions kept coming.  Normally, they'd be simple yes or no questions, but most of these had two answers: yes _and_ no_.  Yes, I know they stabbed me with a drugged needle, but no, I don't know what the drug was or how long it will last.  Or if it would stop at all.   No, I am not hurting…physically.  Mentally?  I am dead.  _

I wanted to know why my spider-sense went off.  Something was wrong.  

Spider-senses don't lie.

Except for that one time…

_That doesn't count._

I grew nervous for M.J.'s safety.  She didn't need to be here; we weren't accomplishing anything.  She tried to get me off of the wall, but the clasps were locked, and there was no key anywhere.  It's not like I could've gotten up and walked away even if I were free.  I gave up on her blinking game, and she became frustrated with me.

Then, both of their heads turned simultaneously.  They quickly stood up and turned around, the tall guy grabbing M.J. by the shoulders and holding her cruelly.  My spider-sense was going crazy now – the big guy was back.  Tall guy stepped up to him, thrusting M.J. into his arms.  Big guy grabbed her, smiled at tall guy, and threw her into the cage with me. 

_He set her up._

_         Why didn't my senses go off before, though?_

M.J. crawled over to me, crying, and sat down next to me.  I looked into her tear stained face, her huge eyes rimmed with wet lashes.  She began to bite her nails, and leaned up against me.

         Hell.  Pure hell.

         The two men had left, but I saw that they returned when M.J. looked over to the door again.  Big guy had the needle gun…but tall guy looked like he wasn't going to let him use it.  He stood in front of big guy, shaking his head and pointing at me and M.J.  Big guy became angry and pointed towards the other end of the room, then threw his hands up with a look of disgust.  He sat the needle gun down and walked away.  Tall guy turned to face me and M.J., then glanced over his shoulder.  He looked back and motioned for M.J. to get up and go to him, which she did carefully, apprehensively.

         I felt like a child caught in the middle of something.  I had no say in anything, and I couldn't find out what was going on.

         After talking to him, M.J. returned to me, a little calmer now.  She gave me an "ok" sign with her fingers, and took her seat beside me.  She leaned her head up against my shoulders, wrapping her arms and hands around my head and torso.  She stayed there for a few moments with her eyes closed as I watched her breathing become heavy.

         _No, M.J…don't sleep.  Wake up.  I need you to be my ears.  _

_         And mouth._

_         And limbs and brain and nose and…_

Sigh.

But then she opened her eyes and looked into mine.  I could imagine the brilliance of the green orbs contrasting her red locks, and my heart broke not being able to see it in color.  Like when you're watching The Wizard of Oz, and the whole beginning you're just waiting for Dorothy to go to Oz so you can see it in color…Ok, so that was a lame analogy, but as close as I can get to the truth. 

I sighed one last time before drifting off into a comatose state.  M.J. had said it would be ok…and for some reason, I trusted tall guy.  

         I'm slowly, slowly getting this story line worked out.  Please let me know how I'm doing!

Chapter 9 will be up soon thanks to Thanksgiving break.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!  Go eat some turkey!

"Press me!"


	9. Butterflies

I don't own Spider-Man, and my hopes and dreams fade every time I am forced to say that.  *sniff sniff* 

Lyrics: "For me this is heaven" by Jimmy Eat World (my babies J ) from their Clarity CD.  Go buy it.

*******Peter/Spider-Man's POV (Paralysis)*********  
  


         It rained.  I could smell it, I could hear it.  I could sense the moisture in the air after I woke from drips touching my skin, falling from the ceiling above.  Maybe ceiling was the wrong word though; more like plywood.  This place was a dump.  Anyway, my body was being reborn, returning my stolen senses back to their rightful owner.  I could only hope that they would fully return before big guy came back with the soporific drug.  Then, maybe I…maybe I could escape.  Break free.__

_         I don't want them to…I can't…M.J…_

         _How did I get into this? _

M.J., resting beside me, moved and her hair fell across my chest.  It felt great.  Renewed my hopes, my optimism, my strength, and made me wish I could only voluntarily move my body in response.  Every endeavor to move failed, but still I tried to open my mouth.  To speak to her.  All I could do was imagine myself having a conversation with her, one in which I, too, could speak and contribute towards.  It killed me.

         I didn't want her to be scared for me; I wanted to let her know it was ok, even though it wasn't, not really.

         This situation perplexed me.  Never had I imagined myself being found out, let alone being caught and held prisoner by a man I didn't know.  A man who obviously knew who I was.

         It scared me.  A lot.

         My fingers and legs began to twitch.  A chemical reaction of some sort, maybe?  All I knew was that I wasn't controlling it.  _Must be the drug wearing off.  _Again, I attempted to speak, this time my mouth opening slightly, leaving a crack between my lips.  No sound; only movement.  M.J. woke up, looking with bemused eyes from my fingers to my legs to my face.  She placed her hands around mine, subduing the tremors of my fingers, and said my name.  A tear rolled down my cheek and fell to the cement floor beneath me.  

[The first star I see may not be a star

We can't do a thing but wait

So let's wait for one more

The time such clumsy time in deciding if it's time]

Soft, warm fingers brushed the streak away and traced my features as the eyes that belonged to the body looked deep into mine.  I gazed into the green radiance and lost my fears, my anxieties.  Lost myself.

[I'm careful but not sure how it goes

You can lose yourself in your courage

The mindless comfort grows when I'm alone with my great plans]

         Her eyelids closed over the luminosity, shutting the brilliance away from me.  Imprisoning it within her soul, in turn creating a sting in my very own.

[This is what she says gets her through it:

If I don't let myself be happy now then what?

If not now when?

When the time we have now ends

When the big hand goes around again]

The eyes opened once again, and the vivacity made me glow inside.     

[Can you still feel the butterflies?

Can you still hear the last goodnight?

Close my eyes and believe wherever you are, an angel for me.]

She leaned her head upon my shoulder, whispering into my ears.  The light faded away as I closed my own eyes and felt weakness directing my body yet again.  But before I was lost, before the exhaustion took full authority, my voice made a breakthrough.  My lips released from each other.

         "M.J….help me…"

*********M.J.'s POV************

         I crawled up to the bars, my whispers cutting the darkness.  "Mr. Black?"  He was here somewhere, he had to be.  My eyes searched the room for movement, finally laying upon "boss-man" sitting at a busted up oak desk on the other side.  He didn't move, so he must not have heard me.  I leaned my back up against the cage door and glanced towards Peter. 

         _Sigh.  He said he'd get us out.  Peter…there…there's something wrong with Pete.  He needs help. _ I shook my head in frustration and went back to him.  He was asleep again, but before he'd fallen asleep, he'd talked…I couldn't figure out what he'd meant, and he wouldn't wake up.  Did he need help, physically?  Was he in pain?  Or, was it something else?  

         I didn't know, and the uncertainty didn't aid in my feeling better.  Wrapping my hands around Peter's arm, I leaned my head back against the bricks and let the built up tears pour over my eyelids.  I'd been strong for long enough.  

********Peter/Spider-Man's POV (Unconsciousness)*********

         I dreamt.  I was on a train, a subway…something that moved fast on a track.  We began to go faster and faster, until finally, the track was gone and we seemed to be flying over the world.  I saw everything from above, yet I was still on the train.  I sat there, in a hard plastic chair, next to a woman.  I couldn't see her face, what she looked like, but I knew she was very pretty.  Pretty, but with a wickedness about her.  I got a feeling from her.  I.  Me.  Peter Parker.  Spider-Man was in no way involved.  No spider-senses, just genuine human feelings.  Like…evil vibes or something.  You know what I mean; I can't explain it, but you know what I mean.  When you meet someone, and you just…you just _feel_ their iniquity from the way they're acting, or what they say…that's how she was.   She sat next to me, looking at me.  I tried to keep myself from returning her glances, but forces unknown pulled my eyes from the ground, as if compelling them to focus on her.  She had no face, just a blank spot.  No features, no hair.  But still a woman…

         I looked away, fearful of the void.  _People are supposed to have faces.  That's how…that's just how things are._

         When I glanced back again, stronger and ready for the shock this time, she was no longer a woman, but a man.  I started at his shoes, and worked my way upwards with hesitant eyes.  As I neared his neck, just as I was about to look into _his_ face, _he_ was gone.  Like the track.   He disappeared.  In his place was…nothing.  Air, emptiness.  I was alone.  

         Totally alone…  

*******Peter/Spider-Man's POV (Consciousness)************

         Suddenly, I was awake.  I looked around frantically for someone.  A person.  That's all I knew.  _Who am I looking for?!_

         _What the hell?  Who…hey, wait, I'm moving!_

I was mobile again.  Stuck to the wall, yes, but mobile.  I stretched my fingers and toes, and swiveled my neck.  Several bones made cracking noises with the action.  _Ah, yes…I've been needing to do that._

That's when I noticed the man standing in front of the cage, looking at me.  I froze and glared back, unable to see his eyes in the darkness.  He was a shadow in the distance and his eyes burned into me.  I felt them.  

         As my mind cleared, I realized that M.J. was not there.  

         I looked back to the man.  "Where is she?"  My voice…such a great feeling.  

         No answer.  Silence.

"Where is she!?"  Fury took over, and my body began to shake itself, to try to free itself from the wraps.  "WHERE!?" 

"…She's around."

"WHERE!?"_  She can't…they can't…NO!  Just…no.  _My body was shaking, waiting for the needle again.  I knew he was going to use it.  I knew he had it.  _Calm down, Peter.  Calm.  Breathe.  You're not going to be able to do anything right if you can't concentrate.  Focus.  C'mon.  _I took a deep breath and stopped the shaking before talking again.  The whole time, he just stood there, looking at me.  Watching.  Almost like he was waiting for something. 

Waiting for me to lose control.

_Don't give in, Pete.  Don't let him have what he wants._

I exhaled.  "Look.  I…I don't know what's going on.  I don't know what you want with me, just tell me and…I…I'll do what you want.  Please, don't bring her into this.  I'll do anything.  Don't hurt her.  Please."

"Oh, I know.  You _will_ give us what we want," he said, threateningly.  Then, as he tilted his head with a chary grin, "We'll do with her what we must."

"Then what is it?  What do you want?"

"_We_ want _you_ to go bye-bye."

"I swear, if you hurt her…"

Big guy lost his menacing posture as he slinked closer to the cage.  "What is it with you always trying to protect everybody?  I mean, does it ever _really_ work?"

I had no answer.

"Sure, in the movies."  He walked away, shaking his head and laughing blithely.

"Yeah,"  I muttered to myself, "it's just _so_ god damn funny, isn't it?"

***********M.J.'s POV***********

         I felt a heaviness about my body and my eyes opened to a blinding darkness.  Lifting a wool blanket off of my face, I realized that I wasn't where I used to be.  Peter was gone.  I was in some kind of car.  Seats lined the walls, with low, dark windows above them.

         A subway.

         All seats were empty but for mine and one at the back of the train, where Mr. Black sat.

         "Hey…?"

         His head rose from his hands and he looked at me with scared eyes.  "I'm sorry."

         "What?  What's happening, where are we going?  Where's Peter?!"

         "I couldn't…I couldn't get him out.  But I got you out.  Boss separated you guys, but didn't chain you up.  Only locked the door.  Peter – he's still there."

         "Why?!  We're leaving him there?!  Mr. Black, we…no, we have to go back!"

         "Sean."

         "Huh?"

         "My name is Sean Rothbey."

         "I don't care!  I need to go back!"  _What is his problem!?  How can we just leave him there!?_  I brushed the blanket off and stood, glancing at the door and the lights flashing by.  Dizziness enveloped me and I sat back down before I could fall.  "What are they going to do to him?"

         His head was back in his hands, and he started to rub his temples with his thumbs.  "I'm not sure, exactly.  Something with some kind of serum or something, it's supposed to give him amnesia-like effects, then they were going to program him…"

         "Program him!?  Look, he's not a robot!  They can't!  How do I get off of here!?"

"The next stop is in Sullivan County."

"WHAT!?  You're kidding me, right?"

"No."

"Well, I need to find the driver.  We're turning around."

"M.J., subways don't just 'turn around'.  And ask yourself this: why would they want you there?  What did they need you for?  I can't figure it out.  He hates Peter for being Spider-Man.  But why would he want you there?  I can't…"  He shook his head.  "I can't figure it out.  There's something more.  Something I'm missing."

"Bait.  I was bait."

"No, he was there before you."

"Oh.  Well, when I came, he…he felt better, he became hopeful…maybe they need that for the thing to work?" 

"I don't know."

I made a sound of disgust as I flopped back against the window.  __

*********Peter/Spider-Man's POV*************

I winced as my torso hit the corner of the wooden desk, and I fell to the floor as the air was forced from my lungs.  "Ugh!"  I tried to stand up quickly, but was slowed by the liquid in my veins.  I turned to face big guy, who, just moments earlier, had stabbed me with a new needle, then pulled me from my prison.  He was trying to move me to a new reformatory…in the room off to the right with his desk.  There I could see a metal table and a large machine. It was outsized, like an enlarged operating table, with a headrest and cuffs for limbs.  An I.V. drip stood off to the left, and several lights flashed from a computer above the bolster.  "You're not putting me on that."

He seized my arm aggressively and threw me towards the table.  I grabbed the edge and prepared to kick him as he trailed behind me, walking slowly as though I were helpless.  _Stupid of you.  I'm not down…yet_.Allowing my chest to lean on the table, I threw my legs into the air, not expecting him to take hold of them.  Adversely, he _did_ grab them and pulled me once more to the floor.

"We will win, either way.  You can fight, or you can just submit.  We will win."

"No..."  My head fell against the metal base of the table, and I used my hands to the best of my ability to push away, to stand up.  The serum, a different one than before, was adding paralyzing effects.  Again.  I'd watched as he poked my arm with the needle, this time filled with an opaque blue gel-like liquid.  Now, I was wobbly and found that my eyesight was blurring, too.  I felt behind me for the top of the table, using it for support.  "…no..."  Webs protruded from my wrists and I pulled him towards me.  Then, I kicked him away with all my might; he landed a few feet away, against the large oak desk at which he had earlier sat.  As he stood, I noticed the wound above his eyebrow had reopened, and left splatters of deep red blood dripping down his front.  Tenderly, he brought a finger to the lesion, touching it.  He drew it away and walked  slowly towards me, glaring, breathing heavily.  I didn't move.  His face was next to mine, staring into mine, reading me like a book…he knew I was scared.  A smile appeared, and the bloody finger ran down my cheek, leaving a track or red behind.  

_M.J.  If I don't get out, I can't find her._

"…and NO!"  A wad of spit landed in his face, and my fist drove in from the right, hitting his head with a clout.  The dull thump reverberated through the room and he fell with a cry of pain.  The action, however, caused a sudden sting of pain in my abdomen and chest.  I doubled over, incapable of tolerating it, hitting my head on the table on the way to the ground.  "Jeez!…ow."  Big guy lay on the grimy wooden floorboards in front of me with a hand to his bleeding head.  I deemed him as a KO…he wasn't moving or talking, only breathing.  

_Shit, now what!?_

I brought up my arms, and covered the body in a maze of white webs.  He was now stuck to the desk.

_See how _you _like it…being stuck to the wall…Ha.  _

My head fell to the floor as I tried to catch my breath.  I'd never had so much trouble breathing, fighting, and trying to figure out what to do…  Never.  This was all so new to me.  In no way had I ever been so close to defeat, and now I was close enough to taste it.   I did, after all, taste blood.   My tongue searched my mouth for the source of it, finding a wobbly tooth in the front.  I spit it out onto the floor, cringing from the soreness in my gum.  I hated losing teeth; even when I was younger I always had.  It was like…missing a part of yourself.  

My body jumped with realization.  "Ahh…"  My spider-sense – which had started going off the moment big guy had entered my prison with the needle – hadn't stopped.  It continued to drone in my head, ringing in my ears, tingling at the base of my neck.  It was starting to bother me, give me a headache…

I laid there for god knows how many minutes, hours, or days…just waiting.  Waiting for the strength to get up, the strength to leave.  For the buzzing in my head to stop.   The pain in my body to recede.  Waiting for my head to make sense.  Waiting to see again.

Waiting for the strength to figure out what the hell I was going to do. 

I guess I eventually fell asleep again, because the next thing I remembered was big guy talking to himself.  I heard him arguing, and watched him struggle to escape the webbing for a few minutes, before speaking.  

"…boss gets here, and then he'll say, 'Strand, how did you get into this mess?!'  And he'll fire me.  But, I mean, it was Spider-Man, so it's not like I should be upset.  No one can beat this guy, and - "

"Exactly.  No one."

His surprised look quickly turned in to one of annoyance.  "Shut up.  You will be beaten."

"Not by you, I won't."

"Yeah?  Well I notice that you haven't gotten up from the ground.  How long have you been lying there, anyway?  You're as good as dead, once the boss gets here."

"As are you."

He glared at me from underneath his web casing.  "Tell me, Parker, what day is it?"

_Guess that depends on how many days I've been here.  _"I don't know."

"And what month is it?"

"Uhh…it's September.  No, wait, it's November.  No, it's…uhhhh…?"

The glare turned into an amused smile. "How naïve you are…how incredibly, stupidly naïve."

"You won't win."

"How did you get here?"

"I don't know!"

"And how old are you?"

"…I…I'm…what does that matter!?"

"Who was the last person you saw yesterday?  What did you eat for lunch?  What year did J.F.K. die?  What was your mothers maiden name?  Where is your aunt?  What happened to your uncle?"

"Stop!"  I sat up swiftly, bringing my hands to my head.  My brain felt as if it were exploding.  "Just stop!"  _What did he put in me!?_

"What's your little girlfriends name?"

"WHERE IS M.J.!?"

"Damn.  Don't worry though, you'll forget that eventually."

"What did you do to me?" 

He laughed.  "Why should I tell you?  You'll just forget.  Ha!  Ahhhh, the fate.  Now who can save you, Oh Big and Mighty Spider-Man?"

Chapter 10 will come.  (I can read the future!)

Review!

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Review!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  
 


	10. Movin' On

Yay!  I posted!  Sorry, my Internet service was stupid and I was offline for a while there.  I'm seriously incredibly sorry.  I don't usually take too long to post, so don't lose hope just yet.  And Ms. Coulbourne – thanks for all the updates, I appreciate them. : )

I don't own Spider-Man.  Or M.J.  Yeah, blah blah blah.   I do, however, own Strand, Dr. Marcel (think chapter 4 and such), Mr. Black/Sean Rotheby, and anyone else that I invented but can't think of right now.  Have fun if possible, sorry again for the long downtime I had…

(Song clip from Good Charlotte's "The Day That I Die" and all of "Movin' on") 

PS – the reason that some of these chapters are boring (well, some readers think they're boring, but my favorite was chapter 8, so it's not everybody…) is because I'm…stalling.  Yes, I admit it.  I have a few ideas for the next "big" thing to happen, but I can't decide.  I have a feeling chapter 11 will have more action and all that good stuff, so stay with me here.

Food!  _So hungry…_

         _How many days has it been?  How long since I'd last eaten that…whatever it was that I'd eaten while at…before I got here…?_  The internal question trailed off in my mind, party because I couldn't answer myself, and more because I couldn't stand not answering myself.  It disturbed me to find that Strand's last potion had been more than a bit worse in effects.  My memory was being eaten way, and only my most recent recollections stayed totally intact.   Important things, too, such as who I am and who M.J. is, stayed…I could still shoot my webbing and knew that I'd been shot earlier this…week?  Month?  

         But for how long?  How long would I remember these things?    

         My jigsaw puzzle was falling apart, and any of the pieces that I _had_ placed in the proper spot were permanently homeless.  All the kings horses and all the kings men would never be able to put my world back together.  

         After Strand was finished messing with my head – figuratively – I wrapped him up more, being nice enough to allow his nose out to breathe.  I covered his eyes and mouth and made sure he wouldn't escape.  Then, I left.  It was so easy…I just got up and walked away.  

         Of course, I still had a mind strong enough to remind me to stay away from people, so once I reached the top of a wooden staircase (that, by the way, I don't remember descending down), I shot a web to the top of the run down building and hid out on top.  I didn't recognize anything; either I was just far away from home, or the drug was worsening.  A view of my surroundings provided me with the knowledge enough to tell that I was in a working class suburban area, much like the one I used to live in with…her.  Images flowed in my brain, but with no words to sort them out.  _She…I used to live with her.  I remember that.  And an old man.  They shared the same traits; gray hair, kind, reassuring eyes, and always-smiling mouths. _

_         Aunt May._

         _Uncle Ben._

The smiling faces faded in my mind as a gunshot seemed to ring through it.  An old wound was reopened, the illusory blood portrayed by forgotten feelings, as familiarity resurfaced.  

         **(FLASHBACK START)**

We sat in the car, Uncle Ben and I, just before the wrestling match.  I was only a beginner, a baffled kid with a newfound talent – an unnatural talent, but a talent nonetheless.  I reached down to the stereo and turn up the Alien Ant Farm song (that I couldn't stand) only because I needed it to keep from Uncle Ben's questioning glances_.  I can't let him know_. 

         Focusing on music didn't help; I felt guilty_.  And I should.  He never hides anything from me, and here I am doing just what he wouldn't…which is just what I wouldn't normally do.  He knows it._

"Thanks for the ride, Uncle Ben."  Relief swept over my nauseous body as the car pulled up in front of the downtown library.  

         "Now, wait a minute, Peter…We – ah…we need to talk."

         _Crap.  _I shrugged off his proposition, playing like the innocent child that I was…well, that I used to be.  "We can talk later."

         "We can talk now,"  he reached down to turn off the god-awful 'music',  "if you'll let me."  A speech followed, one that didn't help me feel any better about hiding my…powers…from my two closest friends.  I didn't want to, I really didn't.  But how could someone expect me, a teenager under masses of innovation – not to mention fear and indefiniteness – to not object when Uncle Ben told me what I already knew?  That he, indeed, was _not_ my father.  I mean, c'mon!  Wouldn't you?   Not that it matters, because you're not me.  I did object.  I got…angry.  I wasn't thinking, I wasn't putting everything into perspective.   

         **(FLASHBACK END)**

No, that lovely little endowment of my character - putting things into perspective before acting - didn't emerge until later.  

         You know how this story goes.  Uncle Ben said those six crucial words, I went in, won the match, blah blah blah…and, as I'm leaving…the crowd of people, crying and shaking their heads in disbelief…  The tingling in the back of my head, and the heaviness in my heart.  The realization that something bad had happened.

         I followed the murderer to the warehouse.  To his death.  And no, I didn't get to do it.  He tripped and fell out the window before I got my…my chance.  It's morbid, I know.  But I wanted to do anything possible to that man, anything at all that would make him feel even a _fraction_ of the pain I felt when I saw my Uncle Ben die on the street.

         Yeah.  Anything would have made me feel a little better.  ****

         "Not true, Peter."  I opened my eyes that had involuntarily shut during the day mare-memory and they rose to the star filled sky.  "Nothing would have made you feel better.  Nothing."   

         And now where was I?  After all that I'd vowed to do for him, for myself, for mankind…hopeless.  It was all a fruitless, pointless battle_.  _

_Meaningless.  Absolutely, positively, meaningless.  That's all there is to it.  Maybe it's best that in a few hours I won't even remember who I am anymore._

"Not like I knew who I was before."

         [Can you feel the cold tonight?

         It sets in but it's alright

         Darkness falls I'm letting go

         All alone but I feel just fine]

A crisp breeze from the north gave me chills and made me shudder, and I realized, that, once again, I didn't know what to do.

********M.J.'s POV*********

         SQQQEEEEAAAAK-CLANG-WHOOOOOOOOSH.

         My body moved off the seat a few centimeters with the momentum of the subways' stopping, and my hair blew from my face as the doors athwart me released.  

         I was out that door before you could say "Spider-Man".  

         Mr. Bla—Rotheby, however, lingered on the train, looking unsure as to what he should be doing.  __

         "Well?  Come on."  I stood outside the door, coaxing him with my hands and forcing a happy look onto my face.  He reminded me of a scared dog with his tail between his legs.  

         "Why?"  The expressionless face remained just so, and my strained smile transformed into seriousness.    

         "Because.  You've done wrong, and you know it.  When you do something wrong, you should go back and fix it so you don't feel guilty."  I seriously felt like I was talking to a stubborn six year old.  I mean, he just _stood_ there, looking at me, not moving.  Vacant to every degree.  

         Finally – before the subway left again, thank god – his body relaxed and he stepped from the train.  "I guess you're right."   We walked from the station.  It was impiously quiet; the quaint town  in which we had stepped foot was so unlike New York City.  Few people could be seen outdoors, even in the twilight and wonderfully cool fall weather.  The breeze pushed dead, crunchy leaves under our feet and into the empty street.  Glancing around, I noticed a sign for a subway headed home; I tugged on Mr. Rotheby's arm and pointed towards it.

         "Ok, yeah.  We need to go there, I guess."

         I took a final look out into the creepy, unidentified town in Sullivan County and we walked to the entrance.  Inside was a newspaper stand, and, since the train hadn't yet arrived, I borrowed some money from Mr. Rotheby and bought reading material.  I was depressed to find that they didn't carry the Daily Bugle, which I would have chosen over The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times, but anything was better than nothing.  

         Exactly three minutes and eighteen seconds later – I know, because all I did while I waited was watch the clock above the newspaper stand – the train arrived.  Upon boarding, I handed Mr. Rotheby my paper.  He took it with a questioning glance, to which I explained, "I'll be right back, I need to use the restroom."

         Entering the quarter-of-a-cubicle-sized bathroom was challenging enough, but what was even harder was looking at myself in the mirror.  I hadn't slept properly in days, nor had I eaten anything _close _to baring any sort of nutritional value.  The bags under my eyes were bigger than the bags I bring home after a full day's shopping at Macy's.  My skin was pale, my hair disheveled from lack of suitable styling and brushing.  Translation: I looked hideous.  I sat on the toilet for a while, with the seat down, just thinking.  A few tears spilled due to stress, worry, hunger, mental pain…I don't think a full bottle of aspirin could have saved me.    

         _Unless it killed me.  _

         I stood up again, ready to face myself in the mirror.  That last thought had really scared me.  I knew I would never kill myself or do anything stupid, but…man, it would be _so_ nice to not have to deal with this right now.  

         THUD.  "Ow!" 

         I jumped from a sudden vibration and noise at the door and wiped the streaks from my cheeks.  It sounded like someone had just run into the door…I fought an urge to laugh_.  Usually, I'm the one doing things like that._

         "M.J.?  I really gotta go, aren't you done yet!?"  The laugh escaped and I smiled a genuine smile.  _Mr. Rotheby. _

         "Yeah.  I'm done."  I spent a few moments trying to open the door, which opened into the small room, and managing not to get stuck.  It's kind of sad, because I actually needed Mr. Rotheby's help in doing this.  

         "I—ugh, why is this so complicated?!  Here, I got this, now…hold that…yeah – no, not that, this…yeah…UGH!"  I popped through the undersized doorway with a gasp for breath.  As I brushed myself off, I turned to see Mr. Rotheby still in the same position, holding the door open.   The look on his face was undeniable.  His eyes sparkled with a new zeal as he bit his bottom lip.  

         "You're laughing at me!  How dare you!"  I put on a fake angry look and turned my back.  A few moments of silence passed before I turned again to see him struggling to get into the bathroom.  "See, it's not just me," I said in defense.  "I'm not the only one who gets stuck in the doorway."

         "You wanna help?"  

         "Nope.  Not really.  I'd rather stand here and laugh."

         "Oh, ok.  I see how it is.  You just remember this, little lady."

_         Little lady?  _"I'll remember.  Trust me.  I'm going to tell everyone about it."  His body disappeared into the room and I strolled back to my seat, picking up the dropped newspaper from the floor on the way.  

         _Sigh.  I need to get back to Peter.  _I glanced at the clock in the station as the train began to move.  7:23.  Sighing one last time, I rested my head on the back of the hard plastic seat and put the newspaper over my face.  "Just what I need.  More waiting."

         "We'll be there soon."  I sat up as Mr. Rotheby, who I hadn't heard come back, patted my knee reassuringly.   I lowered the newspaper to meet his face, and found him looking into my eyes with a gaze that I didn't like.  He was fondling me with his eyes.  Now, I've had plenty of men do that to me, but…I felt quite uncomfortable.  Then, as suddenly as he'd reappeared, he lowered his head and moved his hand from my leg.  

         I had a feeling the puppy didn't have his tail between his legs anymore.  No, that damn tail was wagging like a spastic snake, and I didn't like it one bit.  

********Peter/Spider-Man's POV*********

         It was like there was an angry hornet buzzing in my head, taking breaks every now and then to sting my brain.  My fingertips and toes were numb from either the injection or the increasing coldness.  Sitting on the rooftop, hands to my head, I remembered.  One little detail about myself came back in the midst of my fading lifetime…

         "I don't give up."   

         [When I think about my life

         I wonder if I will survive to live to see 25 or will I just fall?

         Like all my friends they just keep dying

         People around me always crying

         In this place that I like to call my home

         Not everybody knows that everybody goes to a better place

Not everybody knows that everybody could be living their last days

But the hard times will come 

And we'll keep movin' on (we're movin' up)

Keep movin' on

Life, hope, truth, trust, faith, pride, love, lust

On without the things we've lost  

The things we've gained we'll take with us

And alls I've got are these two hands to make myself a better man

I wonder if I'll ever see the end of this

With all this rain it just keeps falling

On my head and now I'm calling

Out to someone else to help me make it through

Not everybody knows that everybody goes to a better place

And not everybody knows that everybody could be living their last days

But the hard times will come

And we'll keep movin' on (we're movin' up)

Keep movin' on

Life, hope, truth, trust, faith, pride, love, lust, pain, hate, lies, guilt, laugh, cry, live, die

Some friends become enemies

Some friends become your family

Make the best with what you're given

This ain't dying, this is living

Said we're movin' on, and we've got nothing to prove

To anyone 'cause we'll get through

We're movin' on and on and on and on…

Keep movin' on

Life, hope, truth, trust, faith, pride, love, lust, pain, hate, lies, guilt, laugh, cry, live, die 

Some friends become enemies

Some friends become your family

Make the best with what you're given

This ain't dying, this is living]

********M.J.'s POV********

         "How much longer?"  It couldn't be far…we'd been on this god damn subway for hours it seemed.

         Mr. Rotheby glanced at his watch, then to the map on the wall.  "Um…well, probably about five  minutes.  Maybe.  I think.   Yeah, five minutes."  Fidgety.  He was fidgety.  His sideways glances and sudden silence made me nervous.  They freaked me out…

         _He likes me…_

_         He _likes_ me._

_         This cannot be.  I mean, I can't…Peter is…and Mr. Rotheby is, like, old, and I love Peter, and…ew!  _

         After a few minutes, the subway squeaked and rattled its way to a bumpy stop.  My mind swirled the entire way back to the building where Peter was.  Well, where he was when I'd left, anyway…and where I hoped he still was.   I just kept thinking to myself, _what if he's not there?  What if they did something to him?  Something worse than what they've already done?           _

_         What if…he's…_

_         …dead…?_

*****************************

_THUD.  THUD.  THUD.  CRASH!!_

"AUGH!!  OW!"  I reached for something, anything, as the last step of the stairway gave out under my body weight, but I found nothing.

"M.J.!  Are you ok!?"

"Yeah…I think so."

"Well, c'mon, lets get you out of there."  A large knuckled hand (bearing one traditional wedding band, I might add) reached down a few feet to help me up.  I grabbed it, the whole time thinking, _this is weird.  _Not just the fact that he's so…scary…but also the fact that no noises came from within the prison.  No one seemed to be around.  

Not even Peter.

Finally, after searching the totally empty – save one knocked out bad guy – warehouse, we located bloody footsteps leaving up the staircase.  I followed the red track outside, where they just disappeared a few feet from the door.  I glanced to the stars above as if to ask for advice from a higher being when a dangling web upon the building's ledge, swaying to and fro in the chilling breeze, caught my eye.  Don't ask me why I noticed it, especially in the streetlight-less darkness, but thank God I did.   It took and exerted amount of effort to climb to the roof.  I managed to reach the top, though my out-of-shape lungs were gasping for breath by the time I got there.  I soon found that that wouldn't be the worst of my breathing problems.

"Peter!"  The breath no long passed from my lips; the faint wisps of whiteness that were rising from both Peter and Mr. Rotheby's mouths into the cold air did not appear at mine.  "…Peter?"

No movement from him.  I wanted to run, to lay with him, comfort him, but I couldn't.  I was scared of finding out that he was hurt beyond repair. 

         "Aren't you going to…"  Mr. Rotheby shoved past me and did what I could not.  I knelt down on the pavement and cried, unable to look.  

         Not, however, unable to listen.

         "Peter, are you ok?  Answer me."  A pause.  "M.J., get over here!! He needs you."  

         "I…I can't, I…"  The whispers trailed off and were replaced by his own.  By Peter's whispers.

         "M.J.  M.J., hi M.J.  I love you."

         "Oh, Peter!!!"  My body carried itself over to him, mechanically it seemed.  I soon found my hands enveloping his rugged face, stubbly from lack of shaving, but still so beautiful.   "Peter, what happened, where did they go!?  How did you get out?!"  The crystal eyes rose to meet my gaze, then shut as if repressing some dark secret behind the curtained eyelids.  "Peter!"  

         "So many questions."

         "We need to get out of here.  Mr. Rotheby, where can we--"  I turned to my right, where, just moments before, he had stood.  But now he was gone.  "Mr. Rotheby?  Oh, fuck it.  I didn't like him that much anyway.  Peter, are you ok to stand?"

         "Where…where are we going…where did he…"

         "It doesn't matter.  Anywhere."

         "You're right," he said, his eyebrows furrowing together in deep though. "It doesn't matter.  I know I love you.  I remember that.  That's all that matters, forever."

_Oh my God!  _"The amnesia thing," I whispered to myself.  "They actually used it."

*******Peter/Spider-Man's POV*********

         I love M.J.  I know that.

         I always have, and I always will.  I know that.

         I am physically, mentally,  spiritually, morally, and emotionally powerful.  I know that.

         But I can't do this.  I can't have my life erased.  I know that.

         _The cold is bothering you.  You're in pain.  M.J. is here, and she can – will – help you.  Go with her._

"No.  No, I will not listen to you anymore.  I want my life back, and you have it.  It's inside of you, somewhere.  I know it!  GIVE ME MY LIFE BACK!"  Louder and louder.  I was so sick of dealing with myself, arguing with myself.  So sick of lying here, unsure of  both future and past.

         "OH, my god, Peter, what are you talking about!?  What!?  No, Peter, stop, that's your head, you're going to hurt yourself!! Stop!  STOP!"  M.J. pried my hands from their grip on my skull.

_You'll find them, your future and past.  But you need to go with M.J._

         "I WANT IT NOW!"  Louder still.  My aggressive voice blared over that of M.J.'s, toning her out of my consciousness for the time being.

         _Pay attention to yourself.  Pay attention to her.  Be yourself, and you will remember._

"How the hell can I do that!?  NO, SHUT UP!  I'LL KILL YOU!  I WILL!" 

         "Peter, please…oh my god, stop!  Peter, you're scaring me!"  

         "M.J.?  M.J., oh, I'm so sorry, M.J….please, don't cry, don't…"  I reached for the hands that covered her troubled face.

_         Oh, Peter, look what you did!  You idiot.  _ 

         She just sat there on her knees, crying into her hands.  "I'm sorry.  I…I lost myself.  I'm lost, so lost…you have to help me."

         "Peter, listen to me.  We'll get through this, ok?"

         "Ok."  I really, really hoped she was right.  


	11. Drugs are Bad, Very Bad

OK!  Chapter 11!  Yeah!  I'm getting into the double digits, baby!!! YEAH!!  Sorry, I had mashed potatoes (in large quantities) for dinner, and they tend to get me hyper.  I would like to apologize in advance for any insanity I may cause.  Also, I would like to apologize for the odd humor of this chapter, I know a lot of people don't appreciate the same type of humor that I do, but don't hold it against me.   I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!  

Still don't own them.  Still working hard on changing that…

*******M.J.'s POV*********

         "All I know is that I hurt, I'm cold, I love you, and that, just by the look on your face, I'm in trouble."

         "All that, yes.  And more.  Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry I left you!"  I gripped his body in a tight squeeze, but it wasn't the same.  He was different.  Almost like there was a new person in his body.  "Peter…"  He pulled away and surveyed our surroundings nonchalantly.  

         "Yeah, so, uh…where are we?  What are we doing here?"

         "What do you remember?"  

He held his hands to his head, trying to recall the details of the ordeal.  "Um, well…just basic stuff?  Like, I live here.  Yeah, and this is MY city.  We're still in New York, right?  I don't know.  My head hurts, can I take a nap?"

         "You don't remember what happened to you!?"

         He stood puzzled at the ledge.  "Huh?  What happened?  Did I – wait!  WAIT! STOP.  Hold up."  I watched, mystified, as he held up his arms indicating his spoken "hold up" and concentrated.  "What day is it?"        

         "It's…" _Yesterday was Friday, M.J.  That means…_ "It's Saturday.  But why?  What…"

         "OH MY GOD! WE HAVE TO GO!"

         "Peter! What!?"  I watched him run to the edge of the building and look for an escape route.

         "Do you know what tonight is?!"

         "No, I…no!  What's wrong?  What do you remember!?"    

         "Channel 40.  Nick-at-Nite.  Two words: Brady Bunch Marathon! No, no, wait…that's…"  He started counting on his fingers.  "Yeah, that's three words.  Sorry, my mistake.  Let's go!"

         "Peter, how can you…"  _This is not happening.  _"What the hell does that have to do with anything?  Don't you understand?  Peter, we need to go somewhere and talk.  You can't take a nap, and you can't watch TV."  

         "But…what else do we have to do?  Jeez, you're bossy."

         "Well, I'm sorry, but this is important.  Let's – wait.  What time is it on?!"

         "Channel 40, 8:30-9:30 central.  We don't have much time!"

         "How do you know that?"

         He shrugged.  "Uh, I don't know.  I found it."        

         "What?"

         "I found it.  Up there.  It was hiding."  Peter held his index finger to his forehead and I realized that he reminded me of a child.  "Can we go yet?"

         "What else is up there?"

         "Donkeys.  They're blue and they have wings."

         "O…K?…Go."  I pointed to the back of the building, where it sloped off in a mess of wooden boards and dumpsters.  _There's definitely information in his brain…I'll just need to pry it out.  Slowly._

         "…story…of a lovely lady!  Who had…three…something…something girls!…youngest one in curls…"

         "Peter."

         "Yah."

         "Stop."

         "But what about the lovely little girls?  There were THREE!"

         "Stop."

*********************************

         Back at my apartment, I loaned Peter a sweatshirt and sweatpants and he took over the sofa.  Not without arguing, of course.  

         "Oh, man, they're purple!  Do they HAVE to be purple!?  And where is the TV remote?"

         "Peter, listen to me.  You really need to focus.  I don't think you understand the magnitude of your situation." 

         "Is it really my fault that I can't find the TV remote?  I mean, jeez!"  He threw his hands, shaking each above his shoulders, into the air.  "It's _your_ house!  _You_ should at least know where it is."  

         "PETER!  Sit.  Just sit, and listen!"  _Wow, I didn't know I could be that loud.  _Peter gave a meek "ok" and sat on the couch with proper posture, arms in his lap…I don't think I've ever seen him like that before… _Sigh…where do I start?!  _

         "Ahem."  I turned from my thoughts and looked at Peter.  

         "Yes?"

         "Huh?"

         "What do you need?" 

         "Uh, nothing…?"

         "Peter, you really shouldn't confuse me right now.  Really.  Oh, man, I don't know what I'm going to do…I mean, you're acting like a four year old on Ritalin and _I_ can't fight the bad guys _for _you…I'd die…and…damnit, I've been talking out loud, haven't I?"

         "What's this about bad guys?"

         "Ok, look – I still can't believe you don't remember this – some guys took you.  They stole you and did something bad to you.  I don't know what, but they made you different.  They took all your memories away, and I don't know what to do.  This isn't supposed to happen to you…you're supposed to be the one to save everyone, only you _can_ save everyone, and now that you _can't_, we're all screwed, and --"  It hit me again.  I realized once more how much pressure was put onto Peter's ever-weakening shoulders.  So much dependability, responsibility…you'd think that after so much, they would just crack, that he would fall…sort of like he just recently had… "Oh my God, Peter, I'm so sorry…"

         He just sort of looked at me, confused.  "For what?  It's ok, really.  I know what to do."

         A glimmer of hope radiated through my insides as though I were a streetlight.  _Maybe he's starting to remember!  _"You remember?"

         "No, I just know what to do.  I don't know how, I just do.  I feel it."

         "Oh…well, what is it?  What do we do?"

         "You need to tell me everything.  Everything that happened.  Then tell me anything else that matters."  _Ok, so he still isn't Peter, but hope  exists..  We have a chance.  He's still got the same brain, right?  We can do this.  _

"Ok.  Then what?"

         "Then we go kick some bad-guy ass."

********Peter/Spider-Man's POV***********

         "So, that building that we were at, that was where they drugged me?"

         "Yeah.  No one was there except the one guy that you must have knocked out and tied up."

         I felt so stupid, asking all these questions.  I mean, what kind of moron doesn't remember this stuff?  This is drastic stuff.  Reality-changing stuff.  Life and death stuff.  It shouldn't be stuff that I don't remember.

         Yeah, I should definitely remember this kind of stuff.

         I let out a sigh and rubbed my face.  "Whhhooooo.  Ok.  Well, from what I can figure, I need to go back there and find out--"  M.J.'s questioning-slash-worried glances interrupted me.  "What's wrong?"

         "You remember me, right?"

         I smiled inside, though the question wasn't exactly funny.  "Yeah.  I couldn't forget you if I tried.  I remember more now than I did earlier.  I don't remember specifics, but I remember generalities."

         "Why were you so…hyper…earlier?"

         This time I smiled on the outside.  Laughed, too.  It felt great.  "I don't know.  I guess the drugs did it.  You found me right after they drugged me, right?"

         "Um, pretty soon I guess.  Do you think they'll wear off?"

         A grim 'I-don't-know' gesture was an ample reply, but not a very hopeful one.  "Let's wish for that, but not count on it.  You know… let's not get our hopes up too high, just incase."

         "Yeah.  Ok."

In the course of less than one week, my reality had been totally destroyed.  My life was in flames, and I was out of water.  

But I wasn't dead yet.  It would take a lot more than a fire to kill me.  "I'm Spider-Man." 

"Yes.  Yes you are."  She smiled and I realized I'd said that out loud.  

"Spider-Man always wins."

"So far, yeah."

Plans formulated in my head…ideas popped out of nowhere.  It was really freaky.  Things I didn't know about – at least I didn't remember them – were making their way into my consciousness, uninvited…  Hopefully, though, unlike most uninvited guests, they would be a help to me.

**********M.J.'s POV*************

"So?  I mean, why _can't _we do that?  What, exactly, is the problem with that plan?"

"It's too…simple.  I won't let you do it."

"M.J."

"No!"

"You know I have no choice."

"Yeah.  Yeah, I know.  That doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

"I love you."

"I love you, too.  Just…just don't die, ok?"

"Who, me?  Ha!  You know that--"

"Peter, seriously.  In your condition--"

"My 'condition'?  What condition would that be?"

I rolled my eyes, showing my frustration with his attempted ignorance.  "All I'm saying is don't do anything stupid.  Don't get hurt."

"I don't do stupid things."

_No.  No, not yet, you haven't done stupid things.  _"Just go before I change my mind.  I'll wait here, let me know what to do."

"What, you think you can stop me from doing this?"

"Go."  I pointed to the window on the far side of the room.  "And make sure you close it behind you."

He made his way to the window, lifted the pane, and disappeared over the edge.  He didn't shut the window.  "Peter!  Peter, get back here!"  A red-covered head popped back up. 

"Now what?"

I put my hands on my hips.  "Didn't I tell you to shut that window behind you?"

"What?  I'm sorry, you're too far away, I can't hear you.  Come closer!"  He curled his index finger, indicating that I come closer.  Which I did.  Laughing. 

"Peter, you are such a moron.  I know you can hear me."  

"Yeah, but I can't kiss you when you're so far away."  He grabbed my arm and pulled my upper body out the window.  Pulling his mask to his nose, he leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.  "I love you M.J.  I'll call you in a little bit.  And I wont do anything stupid.  Trust me."

"I do, Peter.  I trust you."  I watched as he swung off into the distance, towards the place I wanted him to go least.  To his prison.  "I trust you, Peter."  The wind, picking up my whispers, started to gust stronger through the window, so I dropped the pane and latched the lock.  _Now what?  Why is it that I always get stuck waiting around, worrying?  Why is it that Peter has to be Spider-Man?  Why can't we just be a normal couple?  It would be so nice.  We could take walks in Central Park, not have to worry about being inconspicuous, and just…be.  We could just be.  We would exist as people instead of saviors.  He wouldn't have such a burden on his back, and he would be able to live his own life.  _"But he _does_ live his own life.  This is what he _wants _to do.  If Peter weren't Spider-Man, he wouldn't be Peter, either.  Not the true Peter that's inside, at least.  He wouldn't be anything without Spider-Man."

So, instead of saving only the people of New York, Spider-Man had also saved himself.  He'd saved Peter Parker.  Allowed him to be.

Or did Peter Parker save Spider-Man?

It was a paradox that I just didn't have the time to think about.  I had to wait for Peter's signal.

His plan _had_ to work.  Because if it didn't…well, if it didn't, we probably wouldn't be around to notice.

Yeah, I know.  It's a cliffhanger and I'm sorry, but I just like them.  And just a little badly-wanted FYI for all you action fans out there that just don't like when I stall….Chapter 12 = action!  Lots of it!  So stay tuned!  And yeah, I know I've been taking a while to update and such, but I'm working hard on scholarships, grants and essays for school this fall.  This kind of stuff happens when you're a senior, and it's quite time consuming.  But I WILL finish this story.  Don't you worry.  Just be patient.  See ya in a while, devoted fans!  Haha…I'm such a loser.  Oh, don't forget to review!!

         __


	12. Simplicity

Short but sweet.  Posted in a hurry by request of fan….my puter crashed (yes, again) and we had to re-install Microsoft word.  I'm trying, here!!! I really, truly am.  Enjoy!

*****Peter Parker/Spider-Man's POV*****

         "No…no, I really didn't…please!"  The man was clearly terrified.

         "Tell me what you know, or - " I struggled to come up with a terrifying-er threat…if that's possible.  I mean, he looked about ready to wet his pants, and all I had done was tie him up a bit, prod him a little, and play the big meanie that I am…not.

         He was no longer only terrified, however. 

         No, now he was basically just non-functioning. 

         "I swear…I don't know where he is!  I just…oh, please…don't hurt me, ok!?"

         "You know, at this point, I'm just trying to find a purpose for keeping you alive at all."  Contrary to popular belief, threatening people is great fun.  It's not nice, and it's certainly not orthodox of the Spider-Man "Be Nice to your Customers" policies, but…it is fun.  Insert smiley face here.  "So?  Where'd he go?"

         "I don't - " SMACK!  There was a sickening, crunching-slash-slurping sound as my fist connected with his lower jaw.  "OW! JEEZUS!"  His fear turned to anger.  "Why the hell did you do that!?  Then, he looked at me, and saw me take another punch-throwing stance.  "I mean, I'm sorry, I mean…I really do not know where he is…sir…just please!"

         "Do you know what life is?"

         "I…uh…yes?"  He searched his mind.  He found something… "…L-l-ife is b-b-ut a dream, a, uh… a grotesque and f-foolish dream."

         _Wow. _ "Hmm.  Mark Twain.  I would have never guessed that you were educated.  I, however, was thinking something more Shakespearean.  Life, my good friend, is a tale told by an idiot -- full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

         "Yeah…I guess that works too."

         "You're damn right it works. I can change that, though.  You listen to me, your life will continue to have meaning.  Assuming that it already does, at least… So, you gonna tell me where this guy went?  Or would you rather have me end your grotesque and foolish dream?  Sounds like, if anything, it would be a favor…"  

         "Look, I can try to find out…please don't hurt me (again)…just, let me down, and I'll try to find out…"

         "Yeah, ok.  Maybe you can, uh," I glanced at his freshly wetted pants, "clean yourself up a bit, too, huh?"

         His sweaty face burned a bright red, and I just laughed at him.  Ah, the simple joys of cruelty…

         "Why you always gotta be messing with me?  I never did anything to you.  At least, not until you attacked me the other day, I didn't."

         I was suddenly interested in what the man had to say.  "I attacked you, huh?"

         "Yeah, I was just following orders, and…oh…OH.  Haha…the serum.  It's working, I guess."

         I raised my arms to a web-spraying position.  We were now standing in a small, dirty room with a toilet and a utility sink.  A very, very dirty toilet.  But that's beside the point.  He obviously knew something I didn't.  And, he knew that I didn't know what I wanted to know.  Confusing, isn't it?  "Ok, buddy.  Talk.  Or you're going to be stuck in this bathroom for a while."

         "Whoa, whoa."  He held his hands up defensively, then lowered them to continue drying his pants with the old oil rag.  "I'm on your side now.  I'm sick of your crap.  I'm sick of being beat to shit by you.  Now, I'm just doing whatever I have to in order to keep all my teeth."

         _Teeth._

I felt the inside of my mouth with my tongue.  Earlier, I had noticed an absence of one of my beautiful pearly whites.  "So, tell me about this beating I gave you."

         He smiled, almost sarcastically.  "Which one would you like to be told about first?"

         I thought about it.  "Just give me a general overview."

         "Ok…you were stuck to the wall.  I let you out.  You crush me.  I crush you.  You stick ME to the desk."  He pointed to the large oak desk in the corner, which still had remnants of drying webs crusted on it.  "I pass out, you pass out, I wake up, you're awake, too, and start to talk to me.  I taunt you, act tough, but it bothered you so you wrapped me up like a Christmas present.  I finally get out, and you're gone.  I act like nothing happened incase he comes back." 

         "He."

         "Yeah, he."

         "So, we've met before."       

         "Hell yeah.  And not in the best possible way."  He began to walk back out to the main room, nearer to the desk.  I followed, less uneasy now but ready to trap him if I had to.  

Suddenly, I had a vision of myself being thrown against the floor by this man.  Hitting my head on a big, silver table… "I remember you now.  You're Strand.  Now, you're going to tell me what you put in me, and how long it lasts."

         Strand looked surprised.  Or shocked.  Or both.  "Well, it's obviously not lasting as long as it's supposed to."

         "Why's that?"

         "Because you remember me."

         "So, the point of the drug was to knock out my memory.  To make me forget who I am, maybe?"

         "Yeah, something like that.  I don't know.  They just told me to do it."

         He sat on the edge of the desk, then leaned over into the drawers, as if searching for something.  _A gun?  Another drugged needle?  _He was instantly disturbed from his work by a shot of white goo.  A surprised yelp echoed in the room and Strand turned to me with an angry look on his face.   "Don't look at me like that," I said. "Keep your hands where I can see them.  I don't wanna be stabbed again, is that clear?"

         "Jeez.  Yeah, it's clear.  I'm looking for food, that's all.  Let's get out of here.  Go out to eat.  Get some food or something.  You know, put some regular clothes on, kid.  We'll go talk and stuff."

         "Why do you think I should trust you?"

         "Because I know that you can beat the living shit out of me, one-handed, in less than two seconds."

         It was a good point.  A very good point.  "I'll take that as a compliment, but next time just buy me flowers.  Let's go." 

         And we went.

         **********************

         I'd told him to meet me at a diner near my apartment.  Then, I headed back to my apartment – yeah, I remembered where it was – and changed clothes.  My favorite red shirt.  Jeans.  Matching boxers.  Nike shoes.  I combed my hair, washed my face, checked my scrapes, bruises and other various injuries.  As I stood up to leave, I felt dizzy, lightheaded.  I sat on the edge of my bed for a moment, trying to collect my bearings.  So many people knew who I was.  It was dangerous.  For me, and for M.J.  Too dangerous, too much secrecy revealed…I collapsed on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and drifted off into a light sleep.

**********************

         "Damnit!  Jeez!  How many freaking times --" I was plastered to the wall again.  As Peter Parker.  Wearing street clothes.  I sighed and looked around.  It was strangely quiet, and I didn't know where I was again.  And, I was strangely calm.  Cool.  Collected.  _Weird, _I thought.  _Too weird. _ _How'd I get here again?_

         Again, again, again, again… Too many agains.         

         That's when the dinosaur came in.  Yeah.  Dinosaur.  Did you ever see the movie Jurassic Park?  It's a good movie.  Well, the book is better.  I mean, Crichton just knows how to keep the suspense going and – sorry.  Anyway, the dinosaur.  It was like, just walking around.  

         "What the hell?"  The dino glanced over at me, then sort of…hopped it's way to me, sniffing my face.  "Jeez, you reek.  Go away!"  I looked down at my orange hoodie, which was now covered in dino slime-drool stuff.  Yuck.  It was worse than webbing.  

         "Peter, be nice."  I looked up to see my fourth grade teacher standing at the right.  This was all so weird.  

         "Miss Rowan?  What the hell are you doing here?"

         She made an upset face and shook her finger at me.  "Petie!  You know better than to use that kind of language!  You're going to be in time out for recess!"

         "I…I'm sor – WHERE AM I!?  Why are you here!?"

         She looked saddened at my obvious unwillingness to be where I was.  "Why, Peter… I only came to see how my favorite little student was doing!  I heard about how you were Spider-Man and all, and, well, my class has been studying arachnids.  They made you this little book, see?  Each page has a different spider, and the opposite page has interesting facts about it.  If you just turn the page here, you'll see…" She droned on and on and on…

         Then, she disappeared.  The dino disappeared.  I was staring at my ceiling again.   

         "Whoa.  Dream."  _Well, duh, Peter.  Of course it was a dream.  There was a dinosaur.  And everyone knew you were – _I  stopped that thought before I could finish it.  "Yeah, and besides…you don't own an orange hoodie."  I got up, popped a few aspirins, and made my way to the diner.  

*****M.J.'s POV********

         "Uh-huh.  Uh-huh.  Yeah…no, c'mon, just let me…_sigh_…ok.  Fine.  Go."

         Silence. 

         "I said, go.  So, go."

         …

         I smiled.  "I love you, too.  Bye."

         Peter had called.  Just like he said he would.  Now that I knew he wasn't really _doing_ anything yet, besides going to the diner, I felt more secure.  I relaxed a little, and sat down to watch TV.  Get caught up on what was happening in the world.  

         _Bbbbrrrinnnng!  Bring!  _

_         Stupid phone, _I thought.  _God, I hate the noise that stupid thing makes.  I had just gotten comfy, too.  I got up and walked across the apartment, towards the noise.  _

         _Bring!  Bring!  Bring!_

"I'm coming!  Jeez!…"  I picked up the receiver, thinking it would be Peter calling back.  "Yeah?"

         "M.J.?  Is that you, dear?"  An older woman's voice was on the other end.

         "I…oh, Aunt May, hi…you surprised me."

         "Oh, I'm sorry.  I was just wondering if you knew where Peter is?  He hasn't called in a few days, and something has happened…I would very much like to talk to him…"

         "…uh…"

         "I was downtown, volunteering at the offices, and then, there was this….explosion.  And then these nice, young men took me and watched me until I got better…then I woke up at home… I'm quite confused.  I'm alright, though."

         "Oh, Aunt May, I heard about that on the news, you were there?!…I'm glad you're alright.  Peter's here, he's, uh, napping though…I'll tell him to call you as soon as he wakes up, ok?"   

         "Ok, dear.  Thanks so much."

         "No problem.  Bye, Aunt May."     

         "Good-bye."

         _Click._

I held the phone in my hands, unsure of what to do next.   

And on the EIGHTH day, God created chapter 13. Wait, no, I did that…but the 8th day isn't quite here yet… Day 8 will come.  Be prepared, and rejoice its deliverance…


End file.
